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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



ROBERT BURNS: 



Crifeal aitir '|)iagra|j)tciil |l;otitcs, 



BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 



GLOSSAKY. 



ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED, BY SCIIMOLZE. 



PHILADELPHIA : 
PUBLISHED BY E. H. BUTLER & CO. 

1858. 



Gift. 

18 0'04 
^'"^ HUTCHESON. 



o 



n 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



POEMS. 



PAGE 

Winter. A Dirse 25 

Tlie Death and dying Words of poor 

Mailie 26 

Poor Jlaiiie's Elegy 28 

First Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet . 30 

Second 34 

Address to the Deil 36 

The auld Farmer's New-year Morning 

Salutation to his auld Mare Maggie . 39 

To a Haggis 43 

A Prayer under the pressure of violent 

Anguish 44 

A Prayer in the prospect of Deatli . . 45 
Stanzas on the same occasion .... 45 

A Winter Night 46 

Kemorse. A Fragment 49 

The Jolly Beggars. A Cantata ... 00 
Death and Dr. Ilornhook. A True Story 01 
The Twa Herds ; or, the Holy Tulzie . 67 

Holy Willie's Prayer 70 

Epitaph on Holy Willie 73 

The Inventory; in answer to a mandate 

by the surveyor of taxes 73 

The Holy Fair 76 

The Ordination 83 

Tlie Calf S6 

To James Smith 87 

The Vision 92 

Halloween 101 

X/'Man was made to Mourn. A Dirge . . 109 

To Ruin 112 

To John Ooudie of Kilmarnock, on the 

publication of his Essays 113 

To J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard. 

First Epistle 114 

To J. Lapraik. Second Epistle . . .US 
To J. Lapraik. Third Epistle .... 121 
To William Simpson, Ochiltree . . . 123 



PAOE 

Address to an illegitimate Child . . . 12S 
Nature's Law. A Poem humbly in- 
scribed to G. H., Esq 120 

To the Hev. John M'.Math l:U 

To a Mouse 134 

Scotch Drink .135 

The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer 
to the Scotch Uepresentatives of the 

House of Commons 139 

Address to the unco Guid, or the rigidly 

Righteous 115 

Tam Sam.«on's Elegy 147 

Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate 
issue of a Friend's Amour . . . .150 

Despondency. An Ode 153 

The Cotter's Saturday Night . . . . \hh (y^^ 

The flr.st Psalm 161 

The lirst six Terses of the ninetieth 

Psalm 161 

To a Mountain Daisy 102 

Epistle to a young Friend 16J^/^ 

To a Louse, on seeing one on a Lady's 

Bonnet at Church 107 

Epistle to J. Piankiue, enclosing some 

Poems 168 

On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West 

Indies 171 

The Farewell 173 

Written on the blank leaf of my Poems, 
presented to an old Sweetheart then 

married I'-l 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, E.<q. . 174 
Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux 17S 
Letter to James Tenuant of Glemonner 179 
On the Birth of a posthumous Child . ISl 

To Aliss Cruikshank 182 

Willie Chalmers I'-l 

Verses left in the room where he slept 184 , 

(5) 



CONTENTS. 



To Gavin Hamilton, Esq., recommend- 
ing a boy 185 

To Mr. M'Aaam, of Craigeu-sillau . .187 
Answer to a Poetical Epistle sent to the 

Author by a Tailor 188 

To J. Kanlune. " I am a keeper of the 

law" 189 

Linos written on a 15auk-uote .... 190 

A Dream 190 

A Bard's Epitaph 194 

The Twa Do|;s. A Talo 19o 

Linos on meeting with Lord Daer . . 202 

Address to EJiuburgli 204 

Epistle to M.^jor Lojtan 20(5 

Tho Brigs of Ayr 208 

On the Death of IJobert Dundas, Esq., of 
Arniston, late Lord President of tho 

Conrt of Session 21.5 

On reading in a Newspaper the Death 

of John Jl'Leod, Esq 217 

To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems . 218 
Tho American War. A Fragment . . 218 
Tho Doan of Faculty. A new Ballad .221 
To a Lady, with a Present of a Pair of 

Drinking-glasses 222 

To Clnrinda 222 

Verses written under the Portrait of the 

Poet Fergusson 223 

Prologue spoken by Mr. Woods, on his 
Benefit night, Monday, April 16, 

1787 223 

Sketch. A Character 225 

To Mr. Scott, of Wauchope 225 

Epistle to William Creech 227 

The bumble Petition of Bruar- Water, to 

the noble Duke of Athole 230 

The Hermit: written on a Marble Side- 
bo.ard, in the Hermitage belonging to 
the Duke of Athole, in the wood of 

, Aberfeldy 232 

On scaring some Water-fowl in Loch 

Turit 234 

Verses written with a pencil, over the 
chimney-piece, in the parlour of the 
Inn at Kenmurc, T.nymonth . . . 235 
Verses written witli a pencil, standing 

by tho Fall of Fyors, near Loch Ness 23G 
To Mr. William Tytler, with the present 

of the Bard's picture 237 

Verses written in Friars-Carso Hermit- 
age, on the banks of Nith, June, 1780. 

First Copy 238 

The.s.ame. December, 1788. Second Copy 239 
To Captain liiddel, of Glonriddel. Ex- 
tempore lines on returning a News- 
paper 241 

A Jlothor's Lament for the Death of her 
Son 242 



First Epistle to Kobert Graham, E.sq.. 

of Kintray 242 

On the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 245 

Epistle to Hugh Parker 247 

Lines, intended to be written under a 

Noble Earl's Picture 248 

Elegy on the year 17SS. A Sketch . . 249 / 

Address to the Toothache 250v 

Ode. Sacred to the memory of Mrs. 

Oswald, of Auchencruive 251 

Fragment in.scribed to the Right Hon. 

C. J. Fox 252 

On seeing a wounded Hare limp my me, 

which a fellow had just .shot . . .254 
To Dr. Blacklock. In answer to a Letter 255 

Delia. An Ode 2.57 

To John M'Murdo, Esq 257 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Dum- 
fries, 1st January, 1790 258 

Scots Prologue, for Jlr. Sutherland's 

Benefit night. Dumfries 259 

Sketch. New-year's Day. To Mrs. Dunlop 201 
To a Gentleman who had sent him a 
Newspaper, and offered to continue it 

free of expense 2G2 

The Kirk's Alarm. A Satire. First 

Version 2f'4 

The Kirk's Alarm. A Ballad. Second 

Version 207 

Peg Nicholson 272 

On Captain Matthew Henderson, a 
gentleman who held the patent fur his 
honours immediately from Almighty 

God 273 

The Five Carlins. A Scots Ballad . . 277 
The L.iddies by the Banks o' Nith . . 280 
Epistle to Robert Graham, E.sq., of Fin- 
tray, on the close of the disputed Elec- 
tion between Sir James Johnstone 
and Captain Miller, for the Dumfries 

district of Boroughs 281 

On Captain Gro.so's I'oregrinaliun 
through Scotland, collwting the Auti- 

quities of that kingdom 285 

Written in a wrapper, enclosing a letter 

to Captain Grose 287 >^ 

T!\m o' Shan tor. A Tale 28S l/^ 

Address of Beelzebub to the President 

of the Iligliland Society 295 

To John Taylor 297 

Lament of 5Iary Queen of Scots, on the 

approach of Spring 297 

The Whistle '299 

Elegy on Jliss Burnet of Monboddo . . 302 
Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn . 303 
Linos sent to Sir John Whitefoord, 
Bart., of Whitefoord, with the forego- 
ing Poem 305 



C N T E N T S. 



vil 



PAGE 

Address to the Shiidi; of Thomson, on 

crowning li is l?ustat Ednnm with buys 300 
To Ilobort (Irahani, Ksq., of Fintray . 307 
To Uobert Graham, Esii., of Fintray, on 

receiving a favour 300 

A Vision 310 

To Jolin Maxwell, of Terrau.^hty, on liis 

birtliday 311 

The Kights o^ Women, an occasional 

Address spoken by Miss Fontenelle, 

on her benc^fit night, Nov. 20, 1792 . 312 
Monody on a lady famed for her caprice 31+ 
Kiiistle from Ksopns to Maria .... .".l.'i 

Voem on Pastoral I'ootry Ill 7 

Sonnet, written on the 2.')th of .lanuary. 

1793, tlie birthday of the Author, on 
. hearing a thrush sing in a morning 

walk 319 

Sonnet on tho death of Uobert Riddel, 

Esq.. of (ili'nriddel, April. 1791 . . . 320 
Impromptu on Mrs. Riddel's birthday . 320 

Liberty. A Fragment 321 

A'erses to a youngI<iidy 321 



PAGE 

The Vowels. A Tale 322 

A'erses to John Raidiine 323 

On Sensibility. To my dear and much 
honoured frien<i, Sirs. Dunlop, of 

Dunlop 324 

Lines pent to adentleiuan whom he had 

offended 325 

Address spoken by Jli.ss Fcniteiii'llo on 

her Benelit night 325 

On S(HMng Miss Fontenelle in a favourite 

character 32G 

To Chloris 327 

Poetical Inscription for an Altar to Inde- 
pendence 328 

Tho Heron Rallnds. ISiillad Kirst . . 328 
The Heron liallads. IJallad Second . . 3.30 
The Heron Ballads. Ballad Third . . 333 
Poem addressed to >Ir. Mitchell, Collector 

of Hxciso, Dumfries, 170() 335 

To Miss J(!ssy Lewars, Dumfries, with 

Johnson's Musical Museum .... 336 
Poem on Life, addressed to Colonel de 
Peyster, Dumfries, 1790 337 



EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, FRAGMENTS, &c. 



PAGE 

On tho Author's Father 330 

On R. A., F,s(i 330 

On a Friend 339 

For Gavin Hamilton 340 

On AVee Johnny 340 

On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchlino . 3Ki 

On a Wag in Mauchline .341 

On a celebrated ruling Elder .... 341 

On a noisy Polemic 341 

On Miss Jean Scott 342 

On a henpecked Country Squire . . . 342 

On the sjimo 342 

On the same 342 

The Highland Welcome 343 

On William Smellie 343 

Verses written on a window of the Inn 

at Carron 343 

Tho Book-worms 344 

Lines on Stirling 344 

Tho R(^proof 344 

The Reply 345 

Lines written under the Picture of the 

celebrated Miss Burns 345 

Extempore in the Court of Session . . 345 

The henpocked Husband 340 

Written at luverary 340 



PAGE 

On Elpliinston's Translation of Martial's 

Epigrams 347 

Inscription on the Head-stone of FtM-gus- 

son 347 

On a Schoolmaster 347 

A Grace before Dinner 348 

A Grace before Meat 348 

On Wat 348 

On Captain Francis Grose 349 

Impromptu to Miss Ainslie 349 

The Kirk of Lamington 349 

The Ijcague and Covenant 350 

Written on a pane of glass in the Inn 

at Moffat 350 

Spoken on being ai)j)ointi'd to the Excise 350 

liines on Mrs. Kenible 350 

To :\Ir. Syme 351 

To Jlr. Syme, with a present of a dozen 

of porter 351 

A Grace 351 

Inscription on a goblet 352 

The Invitation 352 

The Creetl of Poverty 352 

Written in a Lady's pocket-book . . . 352 

The Parson's Looks 353 

Tho Toad-eater 353 



VUl 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Ou Robert Ridilel 353 

The Toast 353 

Oa a Person nicknamed the Marquis . 35-1 

Liaes written ou a wiudow 354 

Lines written on a window of the Globe 

Tavern, Dumfries 354 

The Selliirk Grace 355 

To Dr. Maxwell, on Jessie Staig's Re- 
covery 355 

Epitaph 355 

Epitaph on William Nicol 356 

On the Death of a Lapdog, named Echo 356 

On a noted Coxcomb 356 

On seeing the beautiful Seat of Lord 

Galloway 356 

On the same 357 

On the same 357 

To the same, on the Author being 
threatened with his resentment . . 357 

On a Country Laird 357 

Ou Johu Bushby 35S 



PAGE 

The true loyal Natives 358 

On a Suicide 358 

Extempore, pinned on a Lady's coach . 359 

Lines to J^hn llaukiue 359 

Jessy Luvvars 359 

The Toast 359 

On Miss Jessy Lewars 360 

Ou the recovery of Jessy Lewars . . . 360 

Tarn the Chapman 360 

'• Here's a bottle and an honest friend" 301 
"Tho' fickle fortune has deceived me" . 361 

To John Kennedy 362 

To the same 363 

"There's naethin' like the honest 

nappy" 363 

On the blank leaf of a work by Hannah 

More, presented by Mrs. 363 

To the lieu and Brethren of the Masonic 

Lodge at Tarbolton 364 

Impromptu 364 

Prayer for Adam Armour 305 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



PAGE 

Handsome Nell 367 

Luckless Fortune 368 

"I dream'd I lay where flowers were 

springing" 368 

Tibbie, I hae seen the day 369 

'• My father was a farmer upon the Car- 
rick border" 370 

John Barleycorn. A Ballad .... 372 

The Rigs o' Barley 374 

Jlontgomery's Peggy 375 

The Mauchline Lady 376 

The Highland Lassie 376 

Teggy * 377 

The rantin' Dog the Daddie o't ... 379 
'■ My heart was ance as blithe and free" 379 

My Nannie 380 

A fragment. "One night as I did 

wander" 382 

Bonnie Peggy Alison 382 

Green grow the Rashes, ..... 383 

-Hy Jean 3S4 

Robin 384 

'• Her flowing locks, the raven's wing" . 385 
'•' leave novels, ye Mauchline belles" . 386 

Young Peggy 387 

Tho Cure for all Care SS8 

Eliza 3S9 

Tho Sons of Old Killie 3S9 



PAGE 

And maun I still on Menie doat . . . 390 
The Farewell to the Brethren of St. 

James's Lodge, Tarbolton 391 

On Cessnock Banks 392 

Mary 394 

The Lass of Ballochmyle 395 

'■The gloomy night is gathering fast" . 396 
" whar did ye get that hauver meal 

bannock ?" .... 397 

The Joyful ^yidowe^ .398 

" Whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

lad" 399 

"I am my mammy's ae bairn" . . . 399 

The Birks of Aberfeldy 400 

Macpherson's Farewell 401 

Bra w, braw Lads of Galla Water . . .402 
'• Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ?" 4U3 

Strathallan's Lament 403 

My Hoggie 404 

Her Daddie forbad, her Minnie forbad . 405 

Up in the Morning early 405 

The young Highland Rover .... 406 

Hey the dusty Miller 407 

Duncan Davison 407 

Theuiol Meuzies' bonnie Mary .... 408 

The Banks of the Devon 409 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray .... 410 
The Ploughman 411 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



PAGE 
. 412 

. 412 
. 413 
. 414 
. 414 



Landlady, count the Lawin . . . 

"Raving winds around her blowing' 

" How long and dreary is the night'' 

Musing on the roaring Ocean . . 

Blithe, blithe and merry was she . 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw<r . 415 

O'er the Water to Charlie 416 

A Rosebud by my early walk .... 417 

Rattlin', roarin' Willie 41S 

Where braving angry Winter's Storms 419 

Tibbie Duntor 419 

Bonnie Castle Gordon 420 

My Harry was a gallant gay .... 421 
The Tailor fell through the bed, thimbles 

an' a' 422 

Ay Waukin ! 422 

Bewai-e o' Bonnie Ann 423 

The Gardener wi" his paidle .... 424 

Blooming Nelly 424 

The day returns, my bosom burns . . 425 
My Love she's but a lassie yet .... 426 

Jamie, come try me 427 

Go fetch to me a Pint o' Wine .... 427 

The Lazy Mist 42S 

mount and go 429 

Of a' the nirts the wind can blaw . . 429 

Whistle o'er the lave o't 430 

were I on Parnassus' Hill .... 431 
"There's a youtli in this city" . . . .4.32 
My heart's in the Highlands .... 433 

John Anderson, my Jo 433 

Awa, Whigs, awa 434 

Ca' the Ewes to the Knowcs .... 435 
Merry hae I been tec^thin' a heckle . . 436 

The Braus of liallochniyle 437 

-To Mary iu Heaven ' 4^ 

Eppie Adair 4£S 



The Battle of Sherriff-muir 439 

Young Jockey was the blithest lad . . 441 

Willie brewed a peck o' Maut . . . 442 
The braes o' Killiecrankie, . . . . 443 

1 gaed a waefu' gate yestreen .... 443 

The Banks of Mth 444 

Tam Glen 445 

Frae the friends and land I love . . . 446 

Cr.xijrie-burn-Wood 446 

Cock up your Beaver 447 

meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty 44S 

Gudewife, count the Lawin 449 

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

hame 449 

The bonnie lad that's for awa . . . . 450 

1 do confess thou art sae fair .... 451 
Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and 

wide 452 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face .... 453 
When I think on the happy days . . 453 
When I sleep I dream 454 



PAGE 

•' I murder hate by Held or flood" . . 454 
gude ale comes and gude ale goes . . 455 

Robin shure iu hairst 4.55 

Bonnie Peg 456 

Gudeeu to you, Kimmer 4.57 

Ah, Chloris. since it may na be ... 45S 

Eppie M'Xab 45S 

Wha is that at my bower-door . . . 459 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld 

man 460 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thiug . 4C0 
The tithcr morn when I forlorn . . . 401 
.\e fond kiss, and then we sever . . . 462 

Lovely Davies 463 

The weary Pund o' Tow 404 

Naebody 465 

0, for ane-and-twenty, Tam 406 

Kenniure's on and awa, ^VilIie . . . 400 

The Collier Laddie 407 

Xithsdale's Welcome hame 408 

As I was a-wand'riug ae Midsummer 

e'eniu 409 

Bessy and her Spinning-wheel . . . 470 

The Posie 471 

The Country Lass 473 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza 474 

Ye Jacobites by name 475 

Y'e flowery banks o' bonnie Boon . . . 470 
Y''e banks and br.aes o' bonnie Boon . . 470 

Willie- Wastle 477 

Lady Mary Ann 47.S 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation . . 479 
The Carle of Kellyburn braes .... 4S0 
.Jockey's ta'en the parting ki^s . . . 4S2 

Lady (Jnlie 4S3 

The Chevalier's Lament 4S3 

.Song of Death 4Si 

Flow gently, sweet Afton 485 

Bonnie Bell 4S0 

Iley ca' thro', ca' thro' 486 

The Gallant Weaver 4S7 

The dcuks dang o'er my U.addie . . . 4S.S 

She's fair and fause 4S8 

The Deil cam' fiddling thro' the town . 4S9 
The lovely Lass of Inverness .... 490 

my luve's like a red, red ro.se . . . 41)0 - 

Louis, what reck I by thee 491 

Had I the wyte she bade me .... 491 

Coming through the rye 492 

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain . .493 
Out over the Forth I look to the north 494 

The Lass of Ecclefechan 494 

The Cooper o' Cuddie 495 

For the sake of somebody 495 

1 coft a stane o' haslock woo .... 490 
The lass that made the bed for me . . 497 

Sae far awa 499 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town 499 



CON T i:n ts. 



I'AdE 

(t w.it jc Hh.'i's 111 yiiii (dwii . . . . f.dd 

O .May, (liy liK.ni r.Ol 

l,(ivcily I'uily Sli'wai-t Wl'J 

lloiMilc liuMic, Ili};liluii>l huhWv . . . !<m 
Anna, lliy cliiirniN my Ikihuih llro . . . WKi 

1!iis.s111n' ItiinUK fiO-l 

To tlioo, lov'il Nltli f)04 

llaniiocks o' Hiirli-y fiOfi 

lli'o lliilmi! my swwt WW Dimalil . . M)(S 
Wild Is my liniii't, iiiiil I lid (I'ar'H in my e'li fiOll 

Ildid'N his lii'iillli in watri- W>" 

My I'ox(?y'N laco, my I'dHK.v'" '"'"' • • ^'"^ 

(lliiiiuiy Hiici>mln'i- fiOK 

My Imly'H n'own, lhiM-i''M jji'lrK upoirt . fiO.S 
AnnuiK Hid Iri-dH wlmi'ii linmmiiiK hvoH fiOi) 

Till' Hdwilcn IdrUs of Anna fill) 

My all! Idnil dcarld, (» fill 

UlU yo n'o t.i) Hid Inillcs, my Miii-y . . t>V2 
Slid Is a wiiisniiio wi'c (liiiif; .... fill! 

llonny l.dslii- f>14 

-Ill-lilaiul Mary f)ir) 

AuM Kdli Munis fiKi 

Duncan (Iniy f'l7 

pooi'tilln-unl.l, and I'dstldss IdVd . .MS 

Oalla Waldr fil'.t 

l,iinl (IrcKory U'M 

Mary Mcu-ison fi'il 

WaiuldfiiiK VVlllio. Kii'st, Vm-slon . . [>22 
AVamldi-Inu' NVilllc. I.iisl. Vdi-sicm . . fi'J2 
Oh, opdii UnMldor Id iiid, i.lil . . . . fi'J,{ 

.Idssid (M 

Tlid poor anil lioncsl So(l^(vr .... rr-'4 

Mdjio' Mid Mill wn 

lUilhd Inid I liddii on yon liill .... W" 

liOHan Water !i'2H 

"() word my idvi' yii liliic lUir" . . .52!) 

Itonnid .Idan filK) 

IMilllis tlid lair Ml 

Had I a cavron smiii> wild disliiiil. slioi-d .Ml".; 

\\y Allan strnini fiH;! 

O Whistld, aid I'll ddiiid to yuu, my liid f>:!l 
Adown winding' Nllli I did wander . . !>",:> 
Coiiid, U't nid lalid tlu'd to my liri'ast . f>:!ri 

Dalntld David filUi 

Sdots wim had wi' WiUliicd Mod. First 

Vorsloii fi:!7 

Scots wtiii had wi' Wallace liUnl. Second 

Vdrslon f);!S 

Hdliold tlio Innir, till) luiut arrives . . .'i.'!',) 
Thou hast left mo over, .lamlo .... 540 

Auld lann; syno 541 

'•Whdroarc the juy.s 1 Imvd met in llui 

liKirnin);" 54'J 

'■DdUuliHl t-waiii. Hid pleasure" . . .642 

Nancy 54.'! 

llusliand, liusband. coasd your sirifo . 544 

WiU thou ho my dearid? 545 

Itut lately seen in i^liidsomo K''wn . . 54li 



"Could ;iii,i;li(, or.-niij,'d(^cl.'ireniy pains" 5411 
Here's to lliy heallli, my lioniiii! lass . 547 
It was ii' for our ri^hll'ii' Isinn .... 54S 
O steor her up and haud lior t,'aun . . u4il 

t) ay my wife kIki danj; nui 550 

() wort thou In tlio eiiiild hiast . . . 550 

Tlid Hanks of Ci'dd 551 

On Hid seas and liir away 5.V.i 

V.n' the VoWdS to tlio Knowes .... 55;i 
Sad lliixoii were liiM' riiitjldts .... 5.'il 
() saw yd my di^ar, my I'liely '/ .... f5."i 
How laiifj and dreary is the ni^lit . . 551) 
hot not w<iinan d'or comphiin .... 55(j 
The Lover's Morniiif;' Salnte to his Mis- 

trosH 557 

My Chloris, mark how jjroidi tlio ^rovos 55H 
Youthful (!lilod, cliarmhiK Chloe . . . 5,511 
l;assid wi' the lint-while Idcks .... 5(10 
Karewell, tliioi slicMiii that winding 

Hows 5111 

I'hilly, haiipy In. the d.iy 5(1'^ 

Contdiited wi' lillli' .'iiiit ciintie wi' mair 5li;? 
Canst thou leavd me thus, my l\aly . 5114 

My Nannie's awa 5t>5 

t> wha is slid that lo'u.s mo 5115 

Caledonia 5llli 

(t lay thy loof In mind, lass 5ilS 

Thd KdtdChampelrd 5r,'.l 

Hero's a hdiilth to lliem that's awa . .571 

For a' that, and a' that 57'2 

(^•ai^;idhurn Wood 573 

lassio, art Hiou sleeping yet .... 574 
O tell na nid o' wind and rain .... 574 

The DumfricK \'olunteer.s 575 

Address to the Wood-lark 570 

On lUiIoris bcinn ill 577 

Their (proves o\sweel myrtle let foi'ditiu 

lands reckon 578 

'Twas na hor honuie hluo ecu was my 

ruin 57S 

How cruel aro the parents 57il 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fttKliioii . 5.S0 

this is no my aiu lassio 5S1 

Now Sprinn' luis clad tlio grovo in ureen 5S'J 
O bonnid was yon rosy liricr .... 5n.) 
Forlorn my love, no coiiifurt near . . 5M 
Last .May a hraw wooer ciiu down the 

lan^ H'lcn 5Si 

Chloris 5S0 

The Hi.nhlaiid Widow's l.aiuont . . . 5S7 

To (iducral l>unioiirii'r 6S8 

I'eK-a-Uanisey . . i 5S8 

Tlu'ro was a honuio lass 5H'J 

Mally'smoek.Mally's sweet . . . . 5!'i'J 

Hey for a lass wi' a tocher 51)0 

.lossy. '■Ileie'sa health to anollo'd dear" 501 

1 aircst Maid on Dovon banks .... f ft 
Olossary Oi)S 



J L LUSTRA HON S, 



I'MIOM OltimMAI. DUSKINH KNrillAVHl) KXl'Rll.MSI.Y I'MIU THIS DlUTl'lX, 



SUIUIiCT 
Hn.I) I. \Mi SYNE 
I'dirni U'l' CIF I1URN3 
A WINTI'.R NinH'P 

Tin: iiiii.v r\iR . . 

MAN WAS MADK TO MCUl 
TIIK TWA 1)01 IS . . 
TIIK IimtMIT . . . 
T\M o'SMANTHIl . . 
A VISION . . 
TO MMIY IN IIKAVKN 
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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



EGBERT BURNS. 



WINTER. 



[This is one of the earliest of tliu poet's recorded compositions : it was written before 
the death of his father, and is called by Gilbert Burns, ' a juvenile production.' To wiilu 
by a river while flooded, or through a wood on a rough winter day, and hear the storm 
howling among the leafless trees, exalted the poet's thoughts. '• In such a season," he 
said, '-just after a train of misfortunes, I composed Winter, a Dirge."] 

The Avintry west extends his blast, 

And liail aud rain does blaw ; 
Or the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and suaw ; 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 

<^The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"^ 
The joyless winter day • 

Let others fear, to me more dear 
Than all the pride of May : 

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul. 
My griefs it seems to join • 

1 Dr. Young. 
3 (25) 



26 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Tho leafless trees my fiincy pleuse, 
Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheuie 

These woes of mine fuliil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want (O, do thou <^rniit 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resic;u ! 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, 

THE AUTIIOU'S ONIiY I'ET YOWE. 

AN UN'CO MOURNFU' TALE. 

[This talo is partly true; the poet's pot cwo got eiitan<>;le(l in her tetlier, and tumbled 
into n ditch; the face of ludicrous nnd awkward sorrow with whidi this was related by 
Ilushoc, the herd-boy, amused Burns so much, who was on his way to the plough, that 
he immediately composed the poem, and repeated it to his brother Gilbert wlieu they met 
in the evening ; the tieUl where the poet held tho plough, and tho ditch into which poor 
Slailie fell, are still pointed out.] 

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie. 
When Ilughoc^ he cam doytin by. 
Wi' glowing e'en an' lifted ban's. 
Poor Ilughoc like a statue stan's; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it ! 
He gaped wide but naething spak — 
At length poor IMailie silence brak. 

" thou, whose lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 

I A neibor herdcallau. 



R B E 11 T 15 U n N S. 27 

My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear tliem to my master dear. 

"Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, and grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs of woo' I 

" Tell him he was a master kin', 
Au' ay was gude to me an' mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him. 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. 

'' 0, bid him save their harmless lives 
Frae dogs, and tods, an' butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay, an' ripps o' corn. 

" An' may they never learn the gaets 
Of ither vile, wanrcstfu' pets ! 
To sink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears, 
For monie a year come thro' the sheers ; 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

" My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, 
0, bid him breed him up wi' care ; 
An' if lie live to be a beast. 
To pit some bavins in his breast ! 
An' warn him what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame, 
An' no to riu an' wear his cloots. 
Like ither mcnseless, graceless brutes. 



THE P E T I C A L WORKS OF 

" An' iiiost my yowie, silly thiiip;, 
Tiiulo keep thee tVae a tether string ! 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorlaiul toop, 
I^ut ay keep mind to moop an' mell 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

'' And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baitli : 
An' when you think ui)o' your mither, 
Mind to be kind to aue anither. 

" Now, honest Ilughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this eursed tethei", 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blather." 

This said, poor 3Iailie turn'd her head, 
And elos'd her e'en amanii- the dead. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

[Burns, when be culls on the bards of Ayr and Doou to join in tlio lament for .Miiilic, 
intimates that bo re.^ards himself as a poet. Itoj^g calls it a very elegant morsel: hut 
says that it resembles too closely "The Kwie and the Crooked Horn," to be admireil as 
orisi'inal: the shepherd might have remembered that they both resemble Sempill's •• I.itb 
and death of the I'iper of Kilbarehan."] 

La^fent in rhynm, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down yt)ur nose ; 
Our bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' reuiead ; 
The last sad cape-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie's dead. 

It's no the loss of warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our bardie, dowio, wetir 

The mourning weed ; 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 



11 j; K II T r> u 11 N s. 

Thro' a' tlic tmni slio trotted by liim ; 
A laiig lialt'-iuilc ,she could descry liiiu ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend niair faitlifu' ne'er cani nioh him. 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
All' could behave hersel wi' mense : 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 

Sin' iMailie's dead. 

Or, if lie wonders up the Imwe, 

Her livino- imaue in her yowe 

Comes bleatiiisj; to him, owre the knowc, 

For bits o' bread ; 
All' down the briny peai'ls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nac get o' moorland lips,' 

Wi' tawtcd ket, an' hairy hips; 

For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frac yont the Tweed : 
A bonnier fleesli ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man Avlia first did shape 
That vile, wanchancit; tiling — a rape ! 
It niaks guid fellows girn an' gape, 

Wi' chokin dread; 
An' llobin's bonnet wav(! wi' crape, 

F(jr Mailie dead. 

1 VA1!I,\Tln\. 

Slio iviis niio Rc't ci' vuiiloil ranis, 

Wi' woo' liku fronts an' li'fjs liUo trams; 

Shu was tho llowur o" Fairlic lambs, 

A fauiouM brutid I 
Now Kobln, gri'i'tin, chows the hnmg 

0' Mailiu deail.' 
3» 



oO T II i: r E T I (^ A L W R K S OF 

0, a' ye bards on bonuie Doon ! 

An' wlia on Ayr yoiar chanters tune ! 

Come, join the mchxncholious croon 

O' llobin's reed 1 
II is heart "will never get aboon ! 

His Mailie's dead ! 



FIRST EPISTLE TO DAYIE, 

A BUOTIIKK rOKT. 



[In the fumniprof 1784, Burns, wliilc nt work in the gnrdon, repeated this Epistlo to his 
brother Gilbert, who \v;is uuich pleiised with the performance, wliieh he consiUored equixl 
if not superior to some of A11.hu Kanis;iy"s Epistles, and .said if it were printed he had no 
doubt thttt it would be well received by people of taste.] 

January, [ITS4.] 
While winds frao aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing vis owre the ingle, 
I set nic down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' I'hyme, 

In haniely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the ohinila lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift. 
That live sao bien an' snug : 
I tent less and want less 
Their room}- fire-side ; 
But hanker and canker 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's power 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't ; 
But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hac little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread. 

As lauo's we're hale and fier : 



R O BRUT BURN S. 81 

" Mair spier uu, nor fear na,"^ 

Auld ag-e no'ev iniiid a leg, 
The la.st o't, the warst o't, 

Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en 

When banes are crazed, and bliiid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content couhl make us blest; 
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch u taste 

0' truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However Fortune kick the ba', 
Has ay some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther we can fa'. 

What tho', like commoners of air. 
We wander out we know not where, 

But either house or hall ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound. 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit and sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till't we'll time till't. 
And siug't when we hae done. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 
It's no in wealth' like Lon'on bank. 
To purchase peace and rest ; 

1 Kamsay. 



32 T II E V !•; T I C A I- W () 11 K S OF 

It's no ill iu;il<iii iiiiickli' iiiair; 
It's no in books, it's no in lour, 

To make lis truly blest ; 
If happiness hac not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
Wo may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

(Vnild make us happy king; 
The heart ay's the jiart ay 

That makes us right or wrung. 

Think ye, that sic as you anil I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 

"Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think yc, are wo less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas I how aft, in haughty mood 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, noglecting a' that's guid, 
Tliey riot in excess ! 

Baith careless and fearless 

Of either heaven or hell ! 
Esteeming and dcciiiiiig 
It's a' an idle talc ! 

Then let us chcerfu' acipiiesce } 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state; 
And, even sliould misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let iis ken oursel' ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
The' losses, ^nd crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o* hearts ! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes. 

And flatt'ry I detest,) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy : 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 

The lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

0, all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
0, Thou, whose very self art love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

hear my fervent pray'r ! 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number' d out my weary days. 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend. 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 

A tie more tender still. 



3-1 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

It li<;htcns, it bviglitens 

The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 

My Davie or my Jeau ! 

0, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin, rank and file, 

Aniaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Pliwbus and the famous Nine 

Were glowriu owre my pen. 
]My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

'Till ance he's fairly het ; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 
An' rin an unco fit : 

But least then, the beast then 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight now 
His sweaty, wizeu'd hide. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAYIE, 

A BROTHEU TOET. 

[David SiUiir, to whom these epistles are adch-essed, was at that time master of acountry 
school, and was vrulcome to Burns both as a scholar and a writer of verse. This epistle ho 
prefixed to his poems printed at Kilmarnock in the year 1789 : he loved to speak of his 
early comrade, and .supplied Walker with some very valuable anecdotes: he died one of 
the magistrates of Irvine, on the 2d of May, 1830, at the age of seventy.] 

AULB NIBOR, 

I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor. 
For your avdd-farrent, frien'ly letter ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter. 

Ye speak sae fair. 
For my puir, silly, rhyinin clatter 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your olbuek jink and diddle. 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 
0' war'ly cares, 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Till bairn's bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hairs. 

But Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit ; 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit ; 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket, 

Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 

Rivin' the words to gar them clink ; 

Whylcs daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons; 
An' whyles, but ay owre late, I tliink 

]3raw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

0' rhymin' clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban, 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livin', 
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin' ; 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in, 

An' while ought's there. 
Then hiltie skiltie, we gae scrievin'. 

An' fush nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! it's aye a treasure, 
]My chief, amaist my onl}' pleasure. 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure. 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The warl' may play you monie a shavie ; 
But for the Muse she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er so puir, 
Na, even tho' linipiu' wi' the spavie 

Erae door to door. 



36 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

" Prince ! Cbiof of many throned Pow'rs, 
Xlmt led tU" embnttlcd ^en(]iliim to war." — MiLTON. 

(Tlio lipnuliful nnd relenting spirit in whidi this fine poem finishes moved the heart of 
one of tlie coldest of our critics. ''Tt was. I tliinU." says Gilbert lUirns, ''in the winter 
of 17S4. as we were goinj; with carts for coals to the family fire, and I could yet point out 
the imrticular spot, that llobert first repeated to me the • Address to the Deil.' The idea 
of the addri'ss was suggested to him by running over in his mind the many ludicrous 
accounts wc have of that august personage."] 

THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auhl Ilornie, Satan, Nick, or CKiotie; 
Wha iu you cavern grim an' sootie, 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstaue cootie. 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee. 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

E'en to a deil. 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Groat is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame ; 
Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame. 

Thou travels far ; 
An', foith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whylos, on the strong-winged tempest flyin, 

Tirliu the kirks; 
Whiles, iu the human bosom pryiu, 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend Grauuie say, 
In lanely glens yc like to stray ; 
Or where auld-ruiu'd castles, gray, 
Nod to the moon. 



ROBERT BURNS 

Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way 
Wi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Graunie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bununin, 

Wi' eerie drone; 
Or, rustliu; thro' the boortrics comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ac dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shot down wi' sklcntiu light, 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright 

Ayout the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-buss, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sough. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 

Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 

When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick — quaick — 

Ainang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake. 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags, 
Toll how wi' you on rag weed nags, 
They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues 

Owre howkit dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain, 
]\Iay plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain : 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

V>y witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, twal-pint hawkie's gaen 

As yell's the bill. 

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse 

On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse; 

When the best wark-lume i' the house, 

By cantiip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 

Just at the bit. 



38 THE rOETICAL AV R K S OF 

When tliowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jinglin icy-boord, 
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction ; 
An' nighted trav'llers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing sjjunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' druuk is, 
The blcczin, curst, mischievous monkeys 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk 's, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

"When masons' mystic word an' grip 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell ! 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 
"When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd. 

The raptur'd hour. 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry sward. 

In shady bow'r : 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog ! 

Ye came to Paradise incog. 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
An' gied the infant world a shog, 

'JMaist ruin'd a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz. 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklented on the man of Uzz 

Your spitefu' joke? 



ROBERT BURNS. 39 

Aa' how ye gat liiiu i' your thrall, 
Au' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs au' botches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lows'd his ill tongu'd, wicked scawl. 

Was warst ava ? 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechliu fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a' Lallan tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thiukin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin. 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin 

To your black pit; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin. 

An' cheat you yet. 

But fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' you den, 

Ev'u for your sake ! 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION 
TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, 

ON GIVINQ HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HAXSEL IN THE NEW TEAR. 

["Whenever Burns has occasion," says Hogg, '-to address or mention any subordinate 
being, however mean, even a ninuso or a flower, then there is a gentle pathos in it that 
awalcens the finest feelings of the heart." The Auld Farmer of Kyle has the spirit of a 
knight-errant, and loves his mare according to the rules of chivalry; and well he might: 
elie carried him safely home from markets, triumphantly from wedding-brooses ; she 
ploughed the stiffest land; faced the steepest brae, and, moreover, bore home his bonuio 
bride with a consciousness of the loveliness of the load.] 

A ouiD New-year I wi.sh thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a rij) to thy auld baggie : 



40 THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

Tho' tliou's liowe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 
I've seen the day 

Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 
Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy. 
An' thy auld hide as white's a daisy, 
I've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, 

A bonny gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly, buirdly, steeve, an' swank. 
An' set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, 

Like ony bird. 

It's now some nine-au'-twenty year. 
Sin' thou was my guid-father's Mecre ; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear. 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 

An' thou was stark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickle, slec, an' funny. 

Ye ne'er was donsie : 
But liamcly, tawie, quiet an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day ye pvanc'd wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride : 
An' sweet and gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 



ROBERT BURNS. 41 

Tho' now ye clow but hoyte aucl lioble, 
Au' wintle like a saumont-coble, 
That day, ye was a jinker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did waiible, 

Far, far, behin' ! 

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, 

An' stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, 

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh, 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was coini't, an' I was mellow, 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a follow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But every tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Where'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their mettle, 

An' gar't them whaizle : 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a whattle 

0' saugh or hazle. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lau'. 

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn : 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun. 

In guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han' 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, an' feteh't, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit. 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fiU'd brisket, 

Wi' pith an' pow'r, 
'Till spiritty kuowcs wad rair't and risket, 

An' slypet owre. 



4s 



42 THE POETICAL AYOIIKS OF 

"When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An' threaten' d labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the tinimer; 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never rcestit; 

The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it ; 

Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastlt, 

Thou snoov't awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a' ; 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me threttecn puud an' twa, 

The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
■ An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deservin. 
An' thy aiild days may end in starvin, 

For my last fow, 
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether. 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



ROBERT BURNS. 43 

TO A HAGGIS. 

[The vehement nationality of this poem is but ;i small part of its merit. The haggis 
of the north is the minced pie of the south; both are characteristic of the people: the iu- 
gredients which compose the former are all of Scottish growth, including the bag which 
contains them : the ingredients of the latter are gathered chiefly from the four quarters 
of the globe : the haggis is the triumph of poverty, the minced pie the triumph of wealth.] 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairiu : 
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace 

As lang's uiy arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
"While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

Ilis knife see rustic-labour dight. 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
'Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums; 
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 

Bethaukit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French rasout. 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner. 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle shank a guid wbip-lash, 
His nieve a nit; 



4-1 T II !•: POETIC A L W 11 K S OF 

Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 
how uutit ! 

But iiuvrk the rustic, haggis-fod, 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie nievo a blade, 

He'll niak it whissle ; 
Au' logs, an' arms, an' heads -will sned, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nao skinking ware 

That jaups iu luggiesj 
But, if ye wish her gratcfu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 



A PRAYER, UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT 
ANGUISH. 

["Tliero was a certain period of uiy life," says Burns, "tliat my spirit was broI;e by 
repeated losses nnd disasters, wliieli tlireateiied and indeed elTerted the ruin of my for- 
tune. My body, too, was attju ked by tlu) most dreadful distemper, a liypoehondria or 
tonfn-med nielanelioly. In this wretehed state, the reeoUeetion of whieli malies uie yet 
shudder, I buni; my btirp on the willow-treoSj except iu some lueid iutervuis, iu one of 
wluLh I eomposed the fullowing/'J 

Tiiou Great Being! what Thou art 

Surpasses me to know : 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands. 

All wretehed and distrest ; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey Thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
0, free my wcaiy eyes from tears, 

Or close them fest in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be. 
To suit some wise design ; 



R B E R T B U R N S. 45 

Tlieti, man my soul with firm resolves 
To bear and not repine ! 



A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

[I have hciird the tliiid rersc; of this very moviiif? I'riiyor quoted by serupulous nioii »s 
.■I proof that the poet imputed his errors to the Ueing who had endowed him witli wild and 
unruly passions. The meaning is very different: Hums felt the torrent-strength of pas- 
sion overpowering his resolution, and trusted that Cioil would be merciful to the errors of 
cue on whom he had bestowed such o'ermastering gifts.] 

Thou unknown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread jireseuce, ere au hour 

Perhaps I must appear ! 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly, in my breast, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 

With passions wild and strong; 
And list'ning to their witching voice 

Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All-Good ! for such thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other jilea I have, 
But, Thou art good ; and goodness still 

l)eli<ihteth to forgive. 



STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

[These verses the poot, in his common-place book, calls •' Mis;,'iviiigs in the Hour of 
Despondency and Prospect of Death." He elsewhere says that they were composed ulicii 
fainting-fits and other alarming .symptoms of a pleurisy, or some other dangerous disorder 
first put nature on the alarm.] 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? 
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 



40 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms : 

Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 
Or Death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 

For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms ; 
I tremble to approach an angry God, 

And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence !" 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way : 
Again in folly's path miglit go astray; 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man; 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 

AV'ho act so counter heavenly mercy's plan ? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation rau ? 

Thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea : 
With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me 

Those headlong furious passions to confine; 
For all unfit I feel my pow'rs to be, 

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 
0, aid me with Thy help, Omnipotence Divine ! 



A WINTER NIGHT. 

"Poor naked ■wretcho.s, \yhcro.<;oe'ei- ynvi are 
Tlmt bide the pelting of the pitiless storm ! 
How sh.ill your houseless head.s ami unfed sides, 
Your looped and window VI raggcdness defend you 
I'roiu seasons such as these?"" — Siiakspkaue. 

[•• This poem." says my friend Thomas Carlyle, '■ is worth several homilies on mercy, 
for it is the voice of Mercy hcr.self. IJurns. indeed, lives in sympathy : his soul rushes 
forth into all the realms of beiu^ : uothing that has existenc« can be iudilTeieut to him.'"] 



When biting Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless buw'r; 




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/^,f^/i/i.6tf^i!^j a-^^Ji>^./-u^&<^'^^//f'y ^x^j^/'y' 



Page4S 



ROBERT BURNS. 

When Plicobus gies a short-liv'd glow'r 
Far south the lift, 

Dim-darkeuing through the flaky show'r, 
Or whirHug drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawj wreeths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl. 
Or through the miuing outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

Listening the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

0' winter war. 
And through the drift, deep-lairing sprattle 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing. 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd. 

Lone from your savage homes exiled, 

The blood-stained roost, and sheep-cote spoiled 

My heart forgets, 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you boats. 

Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign. 
Dark muffled, viewed the dreary plain ; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Kose in my sovd, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain 

Slow, solemn, stole : — 

" Blow, blow, 3'e winds, with heavier gust ! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost; 



48 Til !■ r ]•: t i c a i. w o ii k s of 

Descend, _ve chilly, sniot1uM-iii<;' siunvs I 

Not all your ra<iO, as now unitoil, shows 
IMoro hard unkindnoss, unrolentin<>', 
A (.Miuvful malice unropontint;-, 
Than heavoii-illiiniinod man on hrother man bestows; 

See stern ojipression's iron ji'riji. 
Or mad ambition's o-orv hand, 
Sendinj;', like blood-hounds from the slip, 
Woe, Avant, and murder o'er a land ! 

Even in the peaceful rural vale, 

Truth, weepinp:, tells the mournful tale, 
How ])amper'd luxury, tlattiM'y by her side, 

'J'he parasite emiioisoninn' her ear, 

"With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
Looks o'er proiul property, extended wide; 

And eyes the simple rustic hiiul. 

Whose toil upholds the tilittering show, 

A creature of another kind, 

Some coarser substance, unrefin'd. 
Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, belmv. 

Where, where is love's fond, tender throe, 

With lordly honcuir's lofty brow. 
The powers you ]>roudly own? 

Is there, beneath love's noble name, 

Can harbour, dark, the seltish aim. 
To bless himself alone I 

Mark maiden innocence a prey 
To love-pretending snares. 

This boasted honour turns away 

Shunning soft pity's rising sway. 
Regardless of the tears and unavailing prayers ! 

Perhaps this hour, in misery's squalid nest, 

She strains your infant to her joyless breast. 
And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast I 

Oh ye 1 who, sunk in beds of down, 
Feel not a want but Avhat yourselves create, 
Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 

Whom friends and fortune quite disown! 
Ill satisfied keen nature's clamorous call. 

Stretched on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 



ROB E 11 T BURN S. 49 

While through the ratigcd roof and chinky wall, 
Chill o'er his .slumbers piles the drifty heap ! 

Think on the dung^con's grim confine, 

Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ! 

Guilt, erring num, relenting view 1 

But shall thy legal rage pursue 

The wretch, already crushed low 

By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !" 

I heard nae niair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hailed the morning with a cheer — 

A cottage-rousing craw ! 

But deep this truth impressed my mind — 

Through all his works abroad. 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God. 



REMORSE. 

A FIIAOMENT. 

["I entirely aKree," says Burns, "with the author of the TUpm-ij nf Moral l^mtimenh, 
thnt lieinorse is the most painful sentiment that can embitter the human hosom; an 
ordinary pitch of fortitude may boar up admirably well, under those calamities in the 
liroeurement of which we ourselves have had no hand: but when our follies or crimes 
have made us wretched, to bear all with manly firmness, and at the same time have a 
proper penitential sense of our misconduct, is a glorious effort of self-command."] 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace. 
That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, 
Beyond comparison the worst are those 
That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 
In every other circumstance, the mind 
Has this to say, ' It was no deed of mine / 
But when to all the evil of misfortune 
This sting is added — ' Blame thy foolish self!' 
Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 
The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt, — 
5 



50 THEPOETICAL WORKS OF 

Of guilt, perhaps, where we've involved others; 
The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us. 
Nay, more, that very love their cause of ruin ! 
burning hell ! in all thy store of torments, 
There's not a keener lash I 
Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 
Can reason down its agonizing throbs ; 
And, after proper purpose of amendment. 
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? 
0, happy ! happy ! enviable man ! 
glorious magnanimity of soul ! 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



[This inimitable poem, unknown to Cnrrie and unheard of while the poet lived, was first 
given to the world, with other characteristic pieces, by Mr. Stewart of GlaSi;ow, in the 
jear 1801. Some have surmised that it is not the work of Burns; but the parentage is 
certain : the oriijinal manuscript at the time of its composition, in 1785, was put into the 
hands of Mr. Richmond of Mauchliue, and afterwards given by Burns himself to Mr. 
Woodburn, factor of the laird of Crai^engillan ; the song of " For a' that, and a' that" was 
inserted by the poet, with his name, in tlje Mitsical Museum of February, 1790. Cromek 
admired, yet did not, from overruling advice, print it in the Iteliqucs, for which he was 
sharply censured by Sir Walter Scott, in the Quarterhj Rcx'ieiv. The scene of the poom 
is in Mauchline, where Poosie Xansie had her change-house. Only one copy in the 
handwriting of Burns is supposed to exist r and of it a very accurate fac-siniile has been 
given.] 

EECITATIVO. 

When lyart leaves bestrew the yird, 
Or wavering like the bauckie-bird, 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skj'te, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 
In hoary cranreucli drest; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 
0' ran die, gangrel bodies. 
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, 
To drink their orra duddies : 
Wi' quafiing and laughing, 

They ranted an' they sang ; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera o-irdle raus. 



ROBERT BURNS. 51 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm — 

She blinket on her sodger : 
An' ay he gies the tozie drab 
The tither skelpin' kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an aumous dish. 

Ilk smack still, did crack still, 

Just like a cadger's whip. 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up — 



Tune — " Soldier's Joy." 

I AM a son of IMars, 

Who have been in many wars. 

And show my cuts and scars 

Wherever I come ; 
This here was for a wench, 
And that other in a trench, 
When welcoming the French 

At the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past 

Where my leader breath'd his last. 

When the bloody die was cast 

On the heights of Abram ; 
I served out my trade 
When the gallant game was play'd, 
And the Moi'o low was laid 

At the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

I lastly was with Curtis, 
Among the floating batt'ries. 
And there I left for witness 
An arm and a limb ; 



5£ THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Yet let my country need me, 
With Elliot to head me, 
I'd clatter on my stumps 

At the sound of a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now tho' I must beg, 
With a wooden arm and leg, 
Aud many a tatter'd rag 

Hanging over my bum, 
I'm as happy with my wallet. 
My bottle and my callet, 
As when I used in scarlet 

To follow a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c 

What tho' with hoary locks 
I must stand the winter shocks, 
Beneath the woods and rocks 

Oftentimes for a home. 
When the tothcr bag I sell. 
And the tother bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop of hell, 

At the sound of a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

HECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk, 

Aboon the chorus roar; 
While frighted rattons backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost bore; 
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. 

He skirl' d out — encore ! 
But up arose the martial Chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar, 

AIR. 

Tune— "Sohiicr laddie." 

I ONCE was a maid, tlio' I canuot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young men ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 53 

Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de dal, &c. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy. 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de dal, &c. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church : 
He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the body, 
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lai de dal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got; 
From the gilded spontoou to the fife I was ready, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de dal, &c. 

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my old boy in a Cunningham fair; 
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, 
My heart is rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de dal, &c. 

And now I have liv'd — I know not how long. 

And still I can join in a cup or a song ; 

But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady. 

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de dal, &,c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk, 

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 
They miud't ua wha the chorus teuk, 

Between themselves they were sae busy : 
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy 

He stoitered up an' made a face; 

Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzle, 

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. 
5« 



54 THE r o e t i c a l works of 

Am. 

Tnne—" Aiild Sir Si/mon." 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 

He's there but a 'prentice I trow, 

But 1 am a fool by profession. 

My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
And I held awa to the school ; 

I fear I my talent misteuk, 

But what will ye hae of a fool ? 

For drink I would venture my neck, 
A hizzie's the half o' my craft, 

But what could ye other expect. 
Of ane that's avowedly daft ? 

I ance was ty'd up like a stirk, 
For civilly swearing and quaffing j 

I ance was abused in the kirk, 
For touzliug a lass i' my daffin. 

■ Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
Let naebody name wi' a jeer; 
There's ev'n I'm tauld i' the court 
A tumbler ca'd the premier. 

Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad 
jMaks faces to tickle the mob; 

lie rails at our nunintebank squad, 
Its rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I'll tell, 
For faith I'm confoundedly drj'j 

The chiel that's a fool for himsel', 
Gude L — d ! he's far dafter than I. 

liEClTATlVO. 

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, 
"NYha kent fu' weel to clcek the sterling, 
For monie a pursie she had hooked. 
And had in niony a well been ducked. 



ROBERT BURNS. 55 

Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
]5ut weary fa' the waefu' woodie ! 
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Ilighlandiuan. 

Ain. 

Tune — " an ye were dead, (jindman." 

A Highland lad my love was boru, 
The Lallaud laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was faithfu' to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandnian. 

CHORUS. 

Sing, hey my braw John Highlandnian ! 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlaudman ! 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlaudman. 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, 
An' guid claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlaudman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay; 
For a Lalland face he feared nane, 
My gallant braw John Highlaudman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran. 
Embracing niy John Highlandnian. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, och! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast; 
My curse upon them every one. 
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 



THE r E T I C A L W 11 K S OF 

And now a wulow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
Nac comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Ilighlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

HECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper, \vi' his fiddle, 

Wha used at trysts and fairs to driddle, 

Her strappan limb and gausy middle, 

He reaeh'd na higher, 
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set oft" wi' Allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 



Iiine— "Whistle o'er the lave o't." 

Let mo ryke up to dight that tear, 
And go wi' me and be my dear, 
And then your every care and fear 
May whistle owrc the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade. 
An' a' the tuues that e'er I play'd. 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, • 
Was whistle owrc the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be there. 
And ! sac niocly's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about till Daddic Care 
Sings whistle owrc the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

Sac merrily the banes we'll pyko. 
And sun oursolls about the dyke, 



R B E R T B U R N S. 57 

And at our leisure, when ye like, 
We'll whistle owre the luve o't. 

I am, &c. 

But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, 
And while I kittle hair on thairins, 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, etc. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird, 

As wcel as poor gut-scraper ; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a roosty rapier — 
He swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To spcet him like a pliver, 
Unless he wad from that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor twecdle-dce 

Upon his hunkers bended. 
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, 

And sae the quarrel ended. 
But tho' his little heart did grieve 

When round the tinkler prest her, 
He feign'd to snirtle in liis sleeve, 

When thus the caird address'd her : 

ATH. 

Tune — "Clout the candron. 

My bonny lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station. : 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation : 
I've taen the gold, an' been enrolled 

In many a noble squadron : 
But vain they search'd, when off I march'd, 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've taen the gold, &c. 



T II i; I'o KT I r :\ \. wo 15 K S () !•' 



l)('S])is(' (liat sliriiiip, (h;it willicrM iinp, 

\Vi' ;i' his in)is(' ;ni(l ciipiiii', 
And talc :i sIkhc \vi' (-Ik)S(i that Ix'iir 

'J'lu' l)ii<lj;('t and tlui apmn. 
And \)\ (hat stoii)), my (ailh and h(iii|», 

And hy thai, (h'ar Kil1)ai,i;ii>,' 
Tf it'ci- ye want, ur iiicot, \vi' scant, 

iMay I nc'iT wcct my crain'u^ 

An' by that .shmp, ka. 

iii'U'i r.V'nvd. 
The caird prcvad'd — tli' iiubhishini;' fair 

In his cmhraccs sunk, 
l'arll\ \vi' hi\(' d'crconii' sac sair, 

An' jiartly she was drunk. 
8ir \'i(ilini>, witli an air 

That slidw'd a man of spunk, 
AVisI\'d iiiiisdii hclwccii the pair, 

An' made (he li(illl(> chink 

'!'.. thi'ir hcahli (hat iii-Iit. 

l?ut urchin (^ipid shot- a shaft, 

'l'lia( play'd a danic a shavic, 
A saihir rak'd her I'lirc and a('(, 

Hcliint (he chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wiiilit o' Homer's cral't, 

'Tho' liiiipinLi' \vi' the spavie, 
He liirpl'd up, and lap like daft, 

And slnir'd lluMii Hainty havie 

()' h.iot that ni^ht. 

lie was a carc-diMyini:; blade 

As ever Hacclms listed, 
'I'lid' l'\ir(iiiie sair upon him laid, 

His heart she i>ver uiiss'd it. 
He had nae wish hut — to he glad, 

Nor wan( hut -wli(>n hi' thirsted; 
He hati'd nought hut — to he sad, 

And thus the Muso suggestod 

His sang that night. 



' A pooiilim- siM't olwhiskoy. 



r. r. K K T V. u R N s. 59 

AIR. 

Tune — " /''())• ((' tlidt, (in' n' that." 

I AM a bard of no ro«i,ard 

Wi' gciitlo folks, an' a' that: 
But Ilomer-liko, the olowrau bykc, 

Frae towu to town I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, an' a' tliat. 

An' twico as umckle's a' that; 
I'vo h)st but ane, I've twa behin', 

I've wife eneugli for a' that. 

I never draidc the Muses' stank, 

Castalia's biu'n, an' a' that ; 
But there it streams, and riehly reams, 

JMy Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair, 

Their humble slave, an' a' that ; 
But lordly will, I hold it still 

A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this lujiir we meet, 

Wi' nuitual love, an' a' that : 
But for how lang the flie may stan,i:;, 

Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft have put me daft. 

They've ta'en me in, and a' that; 
But clear your decks, and here's the sex! 

I like the jads for a' that. 



For a' that, an' a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a' that; 
My dearest bluid, to d(j thcun f^iiid. 

They're welcome till't for a' that. 



60 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

RKCITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook with a thunder of apph\usc, 
Re-echo' d from each mouth : 
They toom'd their pocks, au' pawu'd their duds, 
They scarcely h^ft to co'cr their fuds, 

To quench their k)wan drouth. 
Then owre again, the jovial thrang, 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack an' wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best; 
He rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs 
Looks round him, an' found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 

AIR. 

Tune — " JoUij Moi-tah, Jill your Glasses." 

See ! the smoking bowl before us, 
IMark our jovial ragged ring ! 

Kound and round take up the chorus, 
And iu raptures let us sing. 

CHORUS. 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the prie.st. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where ! 
A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable, 

llouiul we wander all the day; 
And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 
A fig, &c. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Through the country lighter rove? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love? 
A fig, &e. 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 
Let them cant about decorum 

Who have characters to lose. 
A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! 

Here's to all the wandering train ! 
Here's our ragged brats and callets ! 

One and all cry out — Amen ! 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the priest. 



61 



DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 

A TRUE STORY. 

[.Tohn Wilson, raised to the unwelcome elevation of hero to this poem, was, at the time 
of its composition, schoolmaster in Tiirbolton : he was, it is said, a fair scholar, and a very 
worthy man, but vain of his knowledge in medicine—so vain, that he advertised his 
merits, and offered advice gratis. It was his misfortune to encounter Burns at a mason 
meeting, who, provoked by a long and pedantic speech from the Dominie, exclaimed, the 
future lampoon dawning upon him, "Sit down. Dr. Hornbook." On his way home, the 
pm-t seated himself on the ledge of a bridge, composed the poem, and, overcome with poesie 
and drink, fell asleep, and did not awaken till the sun was shining over Galston Jloors. 
Wilson went afterwards to Gla.'Jgow, embai'ked in mercantile and matrimonial specula- 
tions, and prospered, and is still prospering.] 

Some books are lies frae end to end. 
And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n ministers, they ha'e been kenn'd, 
In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times, to vend. 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 
6 



62 T II I-: r E T T c a l ay o r k s o f 

But this that I am <;:nin to toll, 
Which lately on a night bot'el, 
Is just as true's the Doil's in li-ll 

Or Dublin-city; 
Tliat e'er he nearer comes oursel 

's a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill liad made me canty, 

I was na fou, but just had plenty; 

I stachcr'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
All' hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' ■witches. 

The rising moou began to glow'r 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre : 
To count her lioviis -^'ith a' my pow'i*, 

I set mysel ; 
]^ut whether she had three or four, 

I could na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todliii' down on Willie's mill, 
Setting my staff with a' my skill. 

To keep me sicker; 
Tho' leeward Avhyles, against my will, 

I took a bickci". 

I there wi' something did forgatlier. 

That ]>ut me in an eerie swither; 

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear-dangling, hang; 
A three-taed leister on the itlier 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw. 
For tient a wainc it had ava : 

And then, its slianks, 
They were as tliin, as sharp an' siiia' 

As cheeks o' branks. 



ROBERTBURNS. 63 

" Guid-een," quo' I; " Friend, hae ye been mawiu, 
When ither folk are busy sawin ?" 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naetliing spak ; 
At length, says I, ''Friend, where ye gauu, 

Will ye go backV' 

It spak right howe, — " JMy name is Death, 
But be na fley'd."— Quoth I, " Guid faith, 
Ye're may be come to stap my breath ; 

But tent me, billie ; 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith. 

See, there's a gully !" 

"Guidman," quo' he, ''put up your whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 

To be mislear'd, 
I wad nae mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 

"Weel, weel!" says I, "a bargain be't; 
Come, gies your hand, an' sae we're gree't; 
We'll ease our shanks an' tak a seat, 

Come, gies your news ! 
This while ye hae been mony a gate 

At mony a house." 

" Ay, ay !" quo' he, an' shook his head, 
" It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

An' choke the breath : 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An' sae maun Death. 

" Sax thousand years are near hand fled 

Sin' I was to the hutching bred, 

An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid. 

To stap or scar me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade. 

An' faith, he'll waur me. 



6J: T H E P E T I C A L W l\ K S F 

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the Ckichan, 
Deil mak his kings-hood in a spleuehan I 
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchaii^ 

An' ither chaps, 
The weans hand out their fingers hiughin 

An' pouk my hips. 

'' See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae pierc'd niony a gaHant lieart; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith n(jt worth a f — t, 

Damu'd haet they'll kill. 

" 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

I threw a noble throw at ane; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain ; 

But-deil-ma-care, 
It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

But did nae mair. 

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortified the part, 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

Of a kail-runt. 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry. 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock; 
I might as weel have tried a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

"Ev'n them he canua get attended, 
Although their face he ne'er had kend it, 
Just sh — in a kail-blade, and send it, 

As soon's he smclls't, 
Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 

At once he tells' t. 

1 Bucbau's Domestiti Medicine. 



ROBERT BURNS. Q^ 

And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles. 

He's sure to hae ; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

" Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees ; 
True sal-marinum o' the seas; 
The farina of beans and pease, 

He has't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fortis, what you please. 

He can content ye. 

" Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

Urinus spiritus of capons ; 

Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings. 

Distill 'djjer se; 
Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings. 

And mony mae." 

" Waes me for Johnny Ged's-Hole^ now," 
Quo' I, "If that thae news be true ! 
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 

Sae white and bonie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the plew ; 

They'll ruin Johnnie !" 

The creature graiu'd an eldritch laugh. 
And says, " Ye need na yoke the pleugh, 
Kirkyards will soon be till'd enough, 

Tak ye nae fear; 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh 

In twa-thrce year. 

" Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
By loss o' blood or want of breath, 
This night I'm free to take my aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

By drap an' pill. 

1 The grave-digger. 



60 



T II K I'O K 'I' I (' A I, W () i; K S OF 



An honest wabstiir to liis inulc, 

AVIkisc wil'c's t\v:i nicvi's were scarce wool bivd, 

(lal ti|tiH>nc('-\voi(Ii to mend licr licad, 

W'licii il was sail" : 
The wilV. sladi' caimic to tier bed, 

Tuit ne'er s|iake niair. 

" A eonntra laini had la'en the l)atts, 
Or soini! cnrnmrrinsj; in his i;nts, 
His only son tor Hornbook sets, 

All' |iavs him well. 
The hid, for twa i;nid uiiiiiiier-iiets, 

AVas laird himsel. 

'' A boiinie lass, ye keiul her name, 

Some ill-brewii drinl; had bov'd her waiiie ; 

She trusts liersid, to hide tlii' shame, 

111 Hornbook's caro j 
Ildrn sent her all' to her laiii;- hame. 

To hide it there. 

" That's jnst ii swatch o' Hornbook's way; 
Tims goes he on from day to day. 
Thus does he ]u)ison, kill, an' slay, 

All's wci'l |iaid f'or't ; 
Yet stops nie o' my lawt'ii' jtrey, 

AVI' his d -iiiii'd dirt : 

" l>ut, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
ThoUL;h dinna you be speakiiiL;' o't; 
I'll nail the self-conceited sot. 

As dead's a lierrin' : 
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a liroat, 

He i^ets his I'airin' !" 

]>ut just as he bcL^an to fell, 

The auld kirk-hamnier strak' the bid! 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

AVhich rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleased uiysel'. 

And sao did Death. 



R() li M RT I! nil NS. 67 

T FT E 'I' W A TI I-; II D S : 

oil, 'I'm; iioi.v Till,/.!!:. 

(TliM lU'toi-H In thiM imlffi'ut iliani.i wcii^ Mnoilin, mjiilstcr of lili'iiitomi, iifid ItiiHi'iill, 
Iii>l|jii- (.1) llif) iiiiiilHlor (if KiliiianiocU : llioiixli ii|i(jkIIiih of tlio "()lci Mxlil," Uii'y liirKot 
(iM'ir liniUiciliDoil III till) vchismoiici) <il' (•DiitrovciKy. iiiiil went,. U in siilil, In IiIohn. "Tlils 
|"ii'iii," hiiyH IliiniH, '• with a (MmIiiIm <lr>K(:ri)il,ion ol' llin rifvay iiH wi'll hh liilt-y, ini/l. wllli it 
riMir ol'iipplauKi!."] 

() a' yd |)Imis ;i;o(lly fluck.s, 
VV<!t;l f'(!(l on piistiiHiH ortliixlox, 
Whii MOW will !<(;(![) yoii fr.-io llic fox, 

Or worrying tykeH, 
Or wliu will U'.ui tlu! w.-iil's jiikI crookw, 

About tilt! dykes? 

'I'Ih: tw;i, bi'st liiirds in ;i' I Ik; w;i,st, 
That (Mjr ^■d(>, <:'o.s])(!l liorn a })l!iHt, 
ThcHC fivo and twenty siniincrH f)iiKt, 

O! dool to toll, 
IIa'(! liad :i })ittor ]il;udc out-oa.st 

Atwoon (Ii(!inK(;l. 

O, Moodii;, man, and wordy Kussoll, 
How (ioidd yon rai.so so vili; a, hirstlr;, 
Yo'll SCO how N(;w-Iii;iht hord.s will whi.sllc 

And think it (ino : 
'i'hi! Jiord'H cause ne'er j^ot isie a twisth! 

iSiii' I lia'c! tiiin'. 

O, sirs ! whae'er wad ha'e (txjieekit 

Y(jui' duly yc wad sac ncf^hsckit, 

Ye wha were ne'er ])y lairds n.-speekit, 

'J'o wear the plait], 
JJut })y tho lirulf'S theniselveH eleekit, 

To Ix! their guidr;. 

Wliat floek wi' Moodiij's flock coidd rank, 
Sa(! hale and hearty every shardi 'r' 
Na(! })oison'd soui' Arniiidan sfatdc 

He lot fheni taste. 
Frae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank, — 

O sic a fV-ast ! 



68 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The thummart, -wil'-cat, brock, and tod, 
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smelt their ilka hole and road, 

Eaith out and in, 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin. 

What herd like Russell tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale, 
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height. 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

x\.ud New-Light herds could nicely drub. 

Or pay their skin ; 
Could shake them or the burning dub, 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa — ! do I live to see't, 
Sic famous twa should disagreet. 
An' names, like villain, hypocrite. 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While New-Light herds, wi' laughin' spite. 

Say neither' s liein' ! 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There's Duncan, deep, and Peebles, shaul. 

But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset ; 
There's scarce a new herd that we get 
But comes frae niang that cursed set 

I winna name; 
I hope frae heav'n to see thein yet 

In fiery flame. 



R B E R T B U R N S. 69 

Dalrymple has been laug our fae, 
M'Gill has wrought us meikle wae, 
And that curs' d rascal call'd M'Quhae, 

And baith the Shaws, 
That aft ha'e made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' jiaws. 

Auld Wodrow lang has hatch' d mischief, 
We thought aye death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'U soundly buff our beef; 

I meikle dread him. 

And mony a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel, 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a grey-nick quill, 

An' that ye'll fin'. 

! a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills. 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 

Come, join your counsel and your skills 

To cow the lairds. 
And get the brutes the powers themsels 

To choose their herds; 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair. 
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France : 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and Dalrymple's eloquence, 
M'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M'Math, 
\Yi' Smith, wha thro' the heart can glance, 

May a' pack aff. 



70 T PI E r E T I C A L W R K S F 

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

" And send the godly in a pet to pray." — Pope. 

[Of this sarcastic and too daring poftm many copies in manuscript were circulated while 
the poet lived, but though not unknown or uufelt by Currie, it continued unpublished 
till printed by Stewart with the Jolly Beggars, in 18(ll. Holy Willie was a small former, 
leading elder to Auld, a name well known to all lovers of Burns; austere in speech, 
scrupulous in all outward observances, and what is known by the name of a "professing 
Christian." He experienced, however, a ".sore fall;" he permitted himself to be "filled 
fou," and in a moment when " self got in" made free, it is said, with the money of the 
poor of the parish. His name was William Fisher.] 

THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 

Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for ony gude or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night. 
That I am here afore thy sight. 

For gifts and grace, 
A burnin' and a shinin' light 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get sic exaltation, 
I wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws. 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plunged me in hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake, 
Whar damned devils roar and yell, 

Chain 'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample; 

To show thy grace is great and ample ; 



R B E II T B U 11 N S. 71 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example, 

To a' thy flock. 

But yet, Lord ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust; 
And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust. 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defiled iu sin. 

O Lord ! yestreen thou kens, wi' Meg — 

Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 

! may't ne'er be a livin' plague 

To my dishonour. 
An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 

Besides, I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow — 

But Lord, that Friday I was fou, 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer' d her. 

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn. 

Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 

Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted; 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne 

Until thou lift it. 

Lord, bless thy chosen in this place. 
For here thou hast a chosen race : 
But God confound their stubborn f;ice. 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace 

And public shame. 

Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes, 



72 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Yet has sac mony taldn' arts, 

Wi' grit and sma', 

Frae God's aiii priests the people's hearts 
He steals awa'. 

An' whan we chasten' d him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore. 
As set the warld in a roar 

0' laughin' at us ; — 
Curse thou his basket and his store. 

Kail and potatoes. 

Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r, 

Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr; 

Thy strong right hand, Lord, male it bare 

Upo' their heads, 
Lord weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

Lord my God, that glib-tongu'd Aiken, 

]My very heart and saul are quakin', 

To think how we stood groauiu', shakin', 

And swat wi' dread, 
While Auld wi' hingin lips gaed sneakin', 

And hung his head. 

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him, 
Lord, visit them wha did employ hiiu, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em, 

And dinna spare. 

But, Lord, remember me an' mine, 
Wi' mercies tcmp'ral and divine. 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by name. 
And a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen ! 



EGBERT BURNS. 73 

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 

[M'e are infornietl by Richmond of Jl.aurhline, that when he was clerk in Oavin ITaniil- 
ton's offico, liurns came in ono nioi-nins and said, '•! hnvo just comimsed a poem, .Tolin, 
nnd if you will write it, I will repeat it." He repeated Holy M'illie's I'rayer and Epitaph; 
Hamilton came in at the moment, and having read them with delight, ran laughing with 
them in his hand to Robert Aiken. The end of Holy Willie was other than godly : in one 
of his visits to Mauchline, he drank more than was needful, fell into a ditch on his way 
home, and was found dead in the morning.] 

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Takes up its last abode ; 
His saul has ta'en some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun, 

Poor, silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, 

Observe wha's standing wi' him. 

Your brunstane devilship, I see, 

Has got him there before ye ; 
But baud your nine-tail cat a wee, 

Till ance you've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gi'en him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gaen. 

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit • 

A coof like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it. 



THE INVENTORY; 

IN ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THE TAXES. 

[Wc have heard of a poor play-actor who, by a humorous inventory of his effects, so 
moved the commissioners of the income tax, that they remitted all cl.aim on him then ai>d 
for ever; we know not that this very humorous inventory of Burns had any such effect 
on Mr. .Aiken, the surveyor of the ta.xes. It is dated " Mossgiel, lAdiruary '3'2d, 178G," and 
is remarkal)le for wit and sprightliness, and for the informa,tion which it gives us of the 
poet's habits, hou.sehold, and agricultural implements.] 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 



74 T [[ 1<: POETIC A L W 11 K S OF 

0' guclos, an' a'car, au' a' my uraith, 
To whifli I'm clear to gi'o my aith. 

Imprimix, then, for carnage cattle, 
I have four brutes o' galhuit mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
JMy lan'-aforc's' a gudc auld has been, 
An' wight, an' wilfu' a' his days been. 
My hin-ahin's'^ a weel gaun fillle, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,'^ 
An' your auld burro' mony a time. 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ancc, when in my wooing pride, 
I like a blockhead boost to ride, 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(L — d pardon a' my sius an' that too!) 
I play'd my fillie sic a shavie, 
She's a' bedovil'd with the spavie. 
My fur-ahin's' a wordy beast, 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. 
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
A d — n'd red wud Kilburnic blastie! 
Forbye a cowt o' cowt's the wale. 
As ever ran afore a tail. 
If he be spared to be a beast, 
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. — 
Wheel carriages I ha'e but few. 
Three carts, an' two are feckly new ; 
Ae avdd wdieelbarrow, mair for token, 
Ac leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 
I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
An' my auld mither brunt the trin'Ie. 

For men I've three mischievous boys. 
Run de'ils iov rantin' an' for noise; 
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other. 
Wee Davock bauds the uowt in fother. 



1 The fiire-liovsi- on tlio Icft-hniiJ in Uie plough. 

2 The hiiulniost on the left-hand iu the plough. 

3 Kilmarnock. 

♦ The hiuUmost borso ou the light-haud iu the plough. 



ROBERT BURNS. 75 

I rule tlicm as I ought, discreetly, 
Au' afteu labour them completely; 
An' aye on Sundays, duly, nightly, 
I on the Questions targe them tightly ; 
Till, faith, wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you afF Effectual Calling, 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. 
I've nane in female servan' station, 
(Lord keep me ay frae a' temptation !) 
I ha'e nae wife — an that my bliss is. 
An' ye have laid nae tax on misses ; 
An' then, if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 
My sonsie smirking dear bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face, 
Enough of ought ye like but grace; 
But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already. 
An' gin ye tax her or her niither, 
B' the L — d ! ye'se get them a'thcgither. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm takin' ; 
Frae this time forth, I do declare 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 
The kirk and you may talc' you that, 
It puts but little in your pat; 
Sae dinna put me in your buke. 
Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list wi' my ain hand I wrote it, 
The day and date as under noted ; 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
JSuhscripsi hale Robert Burns. 



7G T 11 E POETIC A L W II K S OF 



THE HOLY FAIR. 

A robo of sceniinR truth iiml trust 

HiJ crafty obferviilion ; 
Ami swrot luiiij;, with iioison'd crust, 

Tho dirk of Di'fanuition : 
A mask I hut like tlic nor^'ct show'd, 

Dyo-varyins on the pigeon ; 
Ami tor a uiautlo largo and broad, 

lie wrapt huu in Uolij^ion.— HYPOCRISY a-LA-mode. 

[Thp scouc of this fine poem is tho churchyai'd of Mauohline, and tho subject liaiidlc<l so 
clovorly and sliarply is tlio laxity of manners visible in matters so solemn and terrilile as 
the administration of the sacrament. "This was indeed," says Lockhart, "an extra- 
oriliiniry pertbrmance: no partisan of any sect could whisper that malice had formed its 
principal inspiration, or that its chief attraction lay in the boldness with which indivi- 
duals, entitled and accustomed to respect, were held up to ridicule: it was ackuowled;j;ed, 
amidst tho sternest muttorinss of wrath, that national manners were once more in the 
hands of a national poet." '• It is no doubt," says llo;;^, '-a reckless piece of satire, but 
it is a clever one, and must have cut to the bone. But much as I admire the poem I mu.st 
regret that is partly borrowed from Fergusson."] 

Ui'ON a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I wallced forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller air. 
The rising suu owre Galston muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin' ; 
The hares were hirplin down the furs, 

The lav'rocks they were chantin' 
Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sac gay, 
Three hizzios, early at the road. 

Came skelpin up the way ; 
Twa had mantecles o' dolefu' black, 

l)iit aue wi' lyart lining; 
Tiie third, that gacd a-wee a-back. 

Was in tho fashion shining 

Fu' g;iy that day. 

The twa appear' d like sisters twin. 

In feature, form, an' claos ; 
Their visage, wither'd, king, au' thin, 

An' sour as ouy slaes : 



t.-vl"* 








Page 



7* 



R B E R T 15 U R N S. 77 

The third came up, hap-step-au'-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kiud that day. 

Wi' bonnet afF, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
I'm sure I've seen that bounic face, 

But yet I canna name ye." 
Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak. 

An' taks me by the hands, 
" Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

Of a' the ten commands 

A screed some day. 

" My name is Fun — your ci'onie dear, 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Superstition here. 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fiiir, 

To spend an hour in daffin : 
Gin ye' 11 go there, yon runkl'd pair, 

We will get famous laughin' 

At them this day." 

Quoth I, ''With a' ray heart I'll do't; 

I'll get my Sunday's sark on. 
An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we'se hae fine remarkiu' !" 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie body. 

In droves that day. 

Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith 

Gaed hoddin by their cottars ; 
There, swankies young, in braw braid-claith. 

Are springin' o'er the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter; 



78 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Wi' sweet-iuilk cheese, in monie a whong, 
An' farls bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Bhick Bonnet throws. 

An' we niauu draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gath'rin'. 
Some carrying dails, some chairs an' stools, 

An' some are busy blethrin. 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to feud the show'rs, 

An' screen our couutra gentry, 
There, racer Jess, and twa-three wh— res. 

Are blinkin' at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin' jades, 

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, 
An' there a batch o' wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock 
For fun this day. 

Here some ai'e thinkin' on their sins. 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays: 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin' on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 

happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass that he likes best. 

Comes clinkin' down beside him ; 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 79 

Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 
Au's loof upon her bosom, 

Uukenu'd that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation : 
For Moodie speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him, 
The vera sight o' Hoodie's face, 

To's aiu het hame had sent him 

Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin' an' wi' thumpiu' ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's stanipin an' he's jumpin' ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, 

His eldritch squecl and gestures. 
Oh, how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters. 
On sic a day. 

But hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice : 

There's peace an' rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise. 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style, an' gestures fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan heathen, 



80 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The moral man he does define, 
But ne'er a word o' faitli in 

That's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum; 
For Peebles, frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' God, 

An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 
While Common-Sense has ta'en the road, 

An' aflf, an' up the Cowgate,^ 

Fast, fast, that day. 

Wee Miller, neist the guard relieves, 

An' orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But faith ! the birkie wants a manse, 

So, cannily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like haiSins-ways o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now but an' ben, the Change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic, an' wi' scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end. 

Is like to breed a rupture 

0' wrath that day. 

Leeze me on drink ! it gies us mair 
Thau either school or college : 

It kindles wit, it waukens lair. 
It pangs us fou' o' knowledge. 

Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep. 
Or ony stronger potion, 

1 A street so called, which faces the tent in Mauehline. 



EGBERT BURNS. 81 

It never fails, on drinking deep, 
To kittle up our notion 

By uiglit or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blythcly bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin' assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin'. 
An' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black Russell is na' sparin' : 
His piercing words, like Highlan' swords. 

Divide the joints and marrow; 
His talk o' Hell, where devils dwell, 

Our vera sauls does harrow^ 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd boundless pit, 

Fill'd fou o' lowin' brunstane, 
Wha's ragin' flame, an' scorchin' heat. 

Wad melt the hardest whun-stane ! 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin', 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neibor snorin' 
Asleep that day, 

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell 

How mouie stories past. 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 

Amang the furms an' benches : 

1 Shakspeare's Hamlet. 



82 T il !•: rOHTTCAL WORKS OF 

Au' checso mi' bivail, fVac women's laps, 
Was dealt about in lunches, 

An' dawds that day. 

In comes a tjaucio, gash guidwile, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife; 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld guidmen, about the grace, 

Frac side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gi'es theni't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass. 

Or lasses that hae naething ; 
Sma' need has he to say a grace 

Or melvic his braw claithing ! 
wives, be minfu' anee yoursel 

IIow bonnio lads yc wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a da}^ ! 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon ; 
Some swagger hamc, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink. 

They're a' iu famous tune 

For crack that day. 

IIow monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are gane. 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine; 

Thei'e's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin 

May end in houghmagandie 

fc^onie ither day. 



ROBERT BURN S. 83 



THE ORDINATION. 

"For fento tlioy HtlU- owe to frui^al hi'nv'n — 
To pleaso the mob they hide the little fjiv'n." 

[This sarcastio F;illy was written on the nOmission of Mr. Maokinlny, as one of (ho 
ministers to the l«ii.i;h, or parochial Kirk of Kilniarnoek, on the 0th of April, 17S0. That 
r ■veroiij person was an Auld Lifrht profesiior, and liis ordination incensed all the New 
Li^rhts, lience the hitter levity of the poem. These dissensions have lou,!^ since past away : 
Mackiulay, a pious .and kind-hearted sincere man, lived down all the personalities of tlie 
satire, and thouj;h unwelcome at first, lie soon learned to regard tUeui only as a proof of 
the i)(nvers of the poet.] 

Kilmarnock wabsters fidge an' claw, 

An' pour your crccshie nations j 
An' ye wlia leather lax an' draw, 

Of a' denominations, 
Swith to the Laigli Kirk, anc an' a', 

An' there tak up your statioii.s ; 
Then aff to Begbic's in a raw, 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-Sense, that imp o' hell, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder;^ 
But Oliphant aft made her yell. 

An' llussell sair misca'd her; 
This day Mackinlay taks the flail, 

And he's the boy will bland her . 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

Au' set the bairns to daud her 
Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste an' turn king David owre, 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor; 
0' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her. 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi' pith this day. 

1 .\lluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the late reverend 
and worthy Mr. Lindsay to the Laigh Kirk. 



^^ T II E P E T I C A L W R K S F 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' toucli it afF wi' vigour, 
How graceless Hani^ leugli at his dad, 

Whicli made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineas^ drove the murdering blade, 

Wi' wh-re-abhorriug rigour; 
Or Zipporah,' the scauldin' jad. 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' th' inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion ; 
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed. 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshiu', 

Spare them nae day. 

Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. 

And toss thy horns fu' canty; 
Nae mair thou' It rowte out-owre the dale, 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty. 
An' runts o' grace the pick and wale. 

No gi'en by way o' dainty. 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep. 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin' : 
Come, screw the pegs, Avi' tunefu' cheep. 

And o'er the thairms be tryin' ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks whccp. 

An' a' like lamb-tails flyin' 

Fu' fast this day ! 

1 Genesis, ix. 22. * Numbers, xxv. 8. 3 Exodus, iv. 25. 



ROBERT BURNS. 85 

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn, 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin', 
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairu, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin' ; 
And like a godly elect bairn 

He's wal'd us out a true ane, 

And sound this day. 

Now, Robinson, harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear. 

Ye may commence a shaver; 
Or to the Netherton repair. 

And turn a carpet-weaver 

Aff'-hand this day. 

Mutrie and you were just a match, 

We never had sic twa drones : 
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

Just like a winkin' baudrons : 
And ay' he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry them in his caudrons ; 
But now his honour maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstane squadrons. 
Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein' through the city; 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! 

I vow it's unco pretty : 
There, Learning, with his Greekish face. 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gauu, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's INIorality himsel', 
Embracing all opinions; 
8 



86 T H E r E T I C A L W R K S F 

Hear, how he gies the tither yell, 
Between his twa companions; 

See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 
As ane were peelin' onions ! 

Now there — they're packed afF to hell. 
And banished our dominions. 

Henceforth this day. 

0, happy day I rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter I 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys. 

That Heresy can torture : 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 

And cowe her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 

Come, bring the tither miitchkin in, 

And here's for a conclusion. 
To every New Light' mother's son. 

From this time forth Confusion : 
If mair they deave us wi' their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion. 
We'll light a spunk, and ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



THE CALF. 

TO THE REV. Jin. JA)[ES STEVEN. 



On his text, M.vlachi, iv. 2. — •' And ye shall go forth, and grow up as Calves of 
the stall." 
[The laugh which this little poem raised against Steven was a loud one. Burns com- 
posed it during the sermon to which it relates and repeated it to Gavin Ilaniilton, with 
whom he happened on that day to dine. The Calf— for the name it seems stuck — came 
to London, where the younger brother of Burns heard him preach in Coveut Garden 
Chapel, in 1790.] 

Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true. 
Though Heretics may laugh ; 



1 "■ Now T/ght" is a cant phrase in the West of Scotland, for those religious opinions 
which Dr. Taylor of Norwich h.as defeuded. 



ROBERT BURNS. 87 

For instance; there's yoursel' just uow, 
God knows, an unco Calf! 

And should some patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a Stirk. 

But, if the lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 

The', when some kind, connubial dear, 

Your but-and-ben adorns. 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most reverend James, 

To hea.r you roar and rowte, 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 

To rank amang the nowte. 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hilluck, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — 

"Here lies a famous Bullock !" 



TO JAMES SMITH. 

"Friendship! ni3'st(>rious cement of the soul! 
Sweet'ner of life and solder of society ! 
I owe thee much! — " — Blair. 

[The .Tames Smith, to whom this epistle is addressed, was at that time a small shop- 
keeper in Mauchline, and the comrade or rather follower of the poet in all his merry 
expeditions with '• Yill-caup commentators." lie was present in Poosie Nansie's when the 
Jolly Beggars first dawned on the fancy of Burns: the comrades of the poet's heart were 
not generally rery successful in life: Smith left JIauehline, and establisihed a calico- 
printing manufactory at Avon near Linlithgow, where his friend found him in all 
appearance prosperous in 1788: but this was not to last; he failed in his speculations 
and went to the West Indies, and died early. His wit was ready, and his manners lively 
and unaffected.^ 

Dear Smith, the sleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 



88 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Yc surely liae some ■warlock-brccf 

Owre human hearts ; 

For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts, 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye'vc cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ithcr pair that's done, 

Mair ta'cn I'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin, Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan ; 
And in her freaks, on every feature 

She's wrote, the Man. 

Just now I've ta'cn the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancy yerkit it up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Ilae yc a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin' ? 

Some rhyme a neighbour's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash 
Some rhyme to court the countva clash. 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat. 

An' damu'd my fortune to the groat; 

But in requit, 
Has blest me with a random shot 

0' countra wit. 

This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid black pront ; 
]?ut still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries " Hoolie ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 89 

I red you, honest man, take tent ! 

Ye'll shaw your folly. 

" There's ither poets much your betters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Ilae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 

A' future ages : 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pages." 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on, with tentless heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead. 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' death begin a tale ? 

Just now we're living sound and hale ; 

Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave care o'er side ! 
And large, before enjoyment's gale, 

Lot's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand. 
Is a' enchanted fairy land, 
Where pleasure is the magic wand. 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand. 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-furty's speel'd. 
See crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinkl'd face, 
Comes hostin', hirj^lin', owre the field, 

Wi' ci'eepin' pace. 



8» 



00 T II K ro i:t i c a l wo u k s o f 

Wlu'H iUU'O life's (lay draws near the iiliamiii', 
'riii'ii i'arewoel vacant careless roamln' ; 
Ah' i'arewci'l cliccrfu' tankards tuaiuin', 

An' social noise ; 
An' fari'weel dear, dcliidini;- woman I 

Tlu- joy ol" joys ! 

liife! liow ])loasant in tliy inornin<>;, 
Yonnj;- Fainiy's rays (lie hills adorning'! 
(Vild-pansint;' ('aution's lesson scnirning, 

AVe frisk away, 
Like sdiuol-boys, at the expected warning, 

'I'o joy and play. 

AVe wander there, we wander hero, 
AVe eye the ros(^ upon the brier, 
Ihinnndfnl that tlu- thorn is near, 

Among the leaves; 
And tlio' till" Jinny wonnd apj)ear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Sonu% Incky, find a flow'ry spot. 

For which they never toil'd nor swat; 

'.riiey drink the swet't and eat the fat, 

J5nt care or pain ; 
And, haply, eye the barriMi luit 

"With high disdain. 

With steady aim some Fortune chase ; 
Keen hope does every sinew brace; 
Thro' fair, thro' fold, they urge the race. 

And seize the prey; 
Then cannie, in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 

And others, like your lunuble servan', 
I'oor wights! nae rules nor roads obsorviu' ; 
T(> right or left, eternal swervin'. 

They zig-zag on ; 
'Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin', 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
IJut truce with peevish, poor couiplaiulng ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 91 

Is fortune's fickle Luna waiiinu;? 

E'en let her p:aii<;! 
Beneatli what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I hero fling to the door, 

And kneel, " Ye Pow'rs," and warm implore, 

" Tho' I should wander terra o'er, 

In all her clinics, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

'^rjie drooping roasts to countra lairds, 
Till icicles liiiig frae their lioards; 
Gie tine braw clacs to fine lil'e-guards. 

And maids of honour ! 
An' yill an' whisky gie to cairds, 

Until they sconncr. 

"A title, J)empster merits it; 

A garter gie to Willie Titt; 

Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 

In cent, per cent. 
But give me real, sterling wit, 

And I'm content. 

'' While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail, 

Wi' chcerfu' face, 
As king's the muses dinna fail 

To say the grace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose; 
I jouk beneath misfortune's blows 

As weel's I mny; 
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 

I rhyme away. 

ye douce folk, that live by rule. 
Grave, tidoless-blooded, calm and cool, 
C'ompar'd wi' you ! — fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 



02 T 11 E P E T I A L W U K S OF 

Your hearts are just a stamliiig pool, 
Your lives a dyke ! 

Nae liair-braiiiM sontiiueiital traces, 
In your unletter'd nameless faees ! 
lu arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But gravisslmo, solemn basses 

Ye lium away. 

Ye are sac grave, nae doubt ye're wise; 

Nae t'erly tho' ye do despise 

The hairum-scaruni, ram-stam bo3'S, 

The rattling squad : 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road — 

Whilst I — but I shall baud me there — 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi' you to mak a pair, 

^Yhare'cr I gang. 



THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST.^ 

[TIu' Vision iiucl till' Hri^trs of Ayr, are siiiil by .TcfTroy to Tu> " tlio only pii'oos l\v lUiiiis 
wliioh r;in lu> cliissed iintliu- tlio hoail of pure fiction:" hut Tarn o" Shantcr ami twmity 
otlior of his compositions have nn equal lijiht to be classed with works of fiction. The 
edition of this poem published at Kilmarnock, ililTcrs in some particulars from the edition 
which followed in Edinhursrh. The maiden whose foot was so handsome as to match th-at 
of Ooila. was a Bess at tirst, but old nITection triumphed, and .lean, for whom the honour 
was fi-om the first designed, regained her pKice. Tho robe of Coila, too, was expanded, so 
far indeed that she got more cloth than she could well carry.] 

Thv; sun had clos'd tho winter day, 
The curlers (|uat their roaring play, 
An' hunger' d inaukin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
"While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been. 

' Diian. a t«rm of Ossian's for the different divUioos of a digressive poem. See his 
'•Catli-Lo«.Ia," vol. ii. of M.icphersou's translation. 



ROUE 11 T I J U HNS. 93 

The thresher's we.ary flin^iii'-tree 
The lec-hiiig day had tired me ; 
And wlieii the day had clos'd his e'e 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the sjiencc, ria;ht peiisivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lancly, by the ing-le-chcek, 
I sat and eyed the spewing rec^k, 
That hll'd wi' hoast-provokini!; snieek, 

The auld clay biggin' ; 
All' heard the restless rations sipieak 

About the riggin'. 

All in this niottie, misty clime, 
I backward mused on wastet tinui, 
How 1 had spent my youthfu' prime. 

An' done nae thing, 
l)ut stringin' blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had T to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit 

My cash-account ; 
While licre, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt' ring, blockhead! coof! 
And hcav'd on high my waukit luof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rasli aith, 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath — 

When, click ! the string the snick did draw : 
And, jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw. 

Now bleezin' bright, 
A tight outlandish liizzie, braw 

Come full in si^ht. 



94 T II K V () !■: T 1 C A L W O II K S F 

Yo need ii:i dmilit, 1 lielil my wislit ; 
The iufiuit aitli, liall'-lorinM, was eruslit ; 
1 };lovvr'd as eerie's I'd been diisht 

In some wild u'len ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, slu> hliisht, 

And stepi)ed ben. 

Groon, slender, leaf-clad holly-boiiuhs 
AVeve twisted, uraeei'ii', voniid her brows, 
1 took her lor some Seottisli Miise, 

By that same token ; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon be l)roken. 

A " hair-braiii'd, sentimental trace" 
^Vas strongly marked in her face; 
A wildly-witty, rustic urace 

Sliont> full n]»on her : 
Iler oye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beani'd keen with hononr. 

J^own ilow'd her robe, a tartan slu^en, 
'Till half a lei;- was scrimply seiMi : 
And such a lei;! my bonnie Jean 

Could only ]hhm- it ; 
8ae strani;ht, sae ta]>er, tii^ht, and clean, 

Naue else came near it. 

ITer mantle laru'e, of lirecnish hiie, 

iMy u;azin<2; wonder chictly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-niiuLiling, threw 

A Inst re liraml ; 
And soem'd, to niy astouish'd view, 

A well-known land. 

TTcre, rivers in the sea were Kist; 
There, nionntains to tlie skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows nnirk'd the coast, 

With surginji- foam; 
There, distant shout' Art's lofty boast. 

The lortllv dome. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Here, Doon jjour'd duwn his far-fetcli'd floods; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds : 
Auld lierinit Ayr stiiw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient borough rcar'd her head; 

Still, as in Scottish story read, 

8he boasts a race 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately tow'r, or palace fair. 

Or ruins pendent in the air. 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some scem'd to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 

To see a race' heroic wheel. 

And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their southron foes. 

Ilis Country's Saviour,'' mark him well ! 
Bold Richardton's'^ heroic swell; 
The chief on Sark* who glorious fell. 

In high command ; 
And He whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 



1 The Wnllaces. 

2 Sir William Wallaro. 

3 Adam WuUacf, of Kichardton, cousin to the immortal proscrver of Seottif-h indepen- 
dence. 

* Wallace, Laird of Craij^ie, who was second in command under iJou^las, Karl of 
Orniond, at the famous hattle on the banks of Sark, fninht anno 1448. That glorious 
victory was principally owin-; to the judiiious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant 
laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action. 



90 T 11 1; r k 'r i c a i- w o ii k s o f 

TlnMV, wliiMV a S('(>))trM rK'tisU sliado^ 
StalkM rouiul his aslios lowly laid, 
i inai'k'd a martial race portray'd 

111 foloiirs stroiiii'; 
l>ol(l, soldiiM'-featur'd, uiulisiiiay'tl 

Tlu'y ytnuU" along. 

'I'liro' luaiiv a wild roiuantic grovo," 
Near many a licrniit rancy'd cove, 
I^Vh haunts tor tViciiilship oi' I'or loV(\) 

In luusinp; mood, 
An at;vd judp;o, I saw him rovo, 

nispensiiii;' ji'ood. 

With (h'op-strnck, rc-vorontial awo,' 
'riic Icanu'd sire and son 1 saw, 
To Nature's (!od and Nature \s law 

'J'hey ii'ave their lore, 
This, all its sonree and I'lid to draw; 

That, to adori'. 

Brvdone's braA'O ward' 1 well eould spy, 
lieneath old Seotia's smilint;' eye; 
Who ealled on l^aine, low staiidini;' l)y, 

'J'o hand him on, 
"Where many a Patriot-name on high 

And hero shone. 



DUAN SECONn. 



Wrni ninsing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming fair ; 
A wliisp'riiig throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
AVheii with an elder sister's air 

She did me irreet. 



1 Oollns, kin.i of tlio I'iots, fnuii whom tho ilistrii-t of Kylo is sniil to taki- its n.'iiiio. lirs 
Imrioil. as trailitiou suys, luvir tlio lauiily soat of tho .Montitouioiios of Ooilsliokl, where liis 
Viiiial-i>hu\> is still sliown. 

■•' liarskiiiiminj;. tlio scat of tlie lato l.ovd .Uistiro-Clork (.Sir Thouiiis Millor of Oloiiloo, 
nflovwartis l*vosniont of the Court of Session). 

» Catriiio. thw soat of Professor IHijitilil tstowarl. 

< Colonel Fulhirtou. 



ROB ]-: R T BURN S. 97 

" All hail ! My own inspired bard ! 
Ill iiic thy native Muse regard ! 
Nor longer niuurii thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

" Know, the great genius of this land, 
Has many a light aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Ilariiioiiiously, 
As arts or arms they understand. 

Their labours i)ly. 

" They Scotia's race among them share ; 
Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the bard, a darling care, 

The tuneful art. 

" 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
1'luiy, ardent, kindling spirits, pour; 
Or ']jiid the venal senate's roar. 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

" And when the bard, or hoary sage, 
Charm or instruct tin; future age, 
They bind the wild, poetic rage 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

" Hence Fullarton, the brave and young; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue; 
Hence sweet harmonious ]5eattie sung 

His ' Minstrel' lays; 
Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

The sceptic's bays. 



98 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

'' To lower orders are assign'd 
The luuubler ranks of human-kind, 
The rustic bard, the Uib'rina; hind, 

The artisan; 
All choose, as various they're inclia'd 

The various man. 

'' When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threat' uing storm some, strongly, rein; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain, 

With tillage-skill ; 
And some instruct the shepherd-train, 

Blythe o'er the hill. 

" Some hint the lover's harmless wile; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile; 
Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil, 

For humble gains. 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic bard : 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

" Of these am I — Coila my name ; 

And this district as mine I claim. 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

Held ruling pow'r : 
I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, 

Thy natal hour. 

" With future hope, I oft would gaze, 

Fond, on thy little early ways. 

Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times 



EGBERT BURNS. 99 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar; 
Or when the north his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

" Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the general mirth 

With boundless love. 

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Called forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys, 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

" When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong. 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along. 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To soothe thy flame. 

" I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way. 
Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray. 

By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven. 

" I taught thy manners-painting strains. 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 

LofC. 



100 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

'' Thou canst uot learu, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thomson's hindscape glow ; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

With Shenstone's art; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow, 

Warm ou the heart. 

" Yet, all beneath the unrivall'd rose, 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade. 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 

" Then nevei; murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine ; 
And, trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor king's regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one. 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the dignity of man. 

With soul erect ; 
And trust, the universal plan 

Will all protect. 

" And wear thou this," — she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head : 
The polish' d leaves and berries red 

Did rustling play; 
And like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



ROBERT BURNS. 101 



II A L L W E E N.i 

"YesI let the rich deride, the proud disdaia, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art." — Golpsmitk. 

[This Poem contains a lively and .striking picture of some of the superstitious oKser- 
vanccsof old Scotland: on Halloween the de.sire to look into futurity was once .-vU but 
uiiiver.sjil in the north ; and the charms and spells which Burns describes, form but a 
portiim of those employed to enable the pe.isantry to have a peep up the dark vista of the 
f.itiire. The scene is laid on the romantic shores of Ayr, at a farmer's fireside, and the 
jictiirs in the rustic drama are the whole household, Including supernumerary reapers 
anil banilsmen about to be discharged from the engagements of harvest. "I never can 
help regarding this," says .lames Hogg, '-as rather a trivial poem!"] 

Upon that uight, when fairies light 

Ou Cassilis Dowiian.s'' dance, 
Or owre the hiy.s, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance; 
Or for Colean the rout is ta'en. 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up the Cove,^ to stray an' rove 

Amang the rocks an' streams 

To sport that night. 

Amang the bonnie winding banks 

Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear, 
"Where Bruce* ance rul'd the martial ranks, 

An' shook his Carrick spear. 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene. 
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks. 

An' baud their Halloween 

Fu' blythe that night. 

The la-sses feat, an' cleanly neat, 
Mair braw than when they're fine ; 

1 Ts thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings are 
all abroad on their baneful midnight errands: particularly those aerial people, the 
Fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniver.sary. 

- Certain little, romantic, rocky green hills, in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat 
of the Earls of Cassilis. 

3 A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Colean, which, as well as Cassilis 
Downans, is famed in country story for being a favourite haunt of fairies. 

♦ The fitmous family of that name, the ancestors of Kobert, the great deliverer of his 
country, were Karls of Carrick. 



102 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 
Hearts leal, au' warm, an' kin' ; 

The Lads sac trig, wi' wooer babs, 
Weel knotted on their garteu, 

Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 
Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 

Whiles fast at night. 

Then, first and foremost, thro' the kail, 

Their stocks^ maun a' be sought ance ; 
They steek their een, an' graip an' wale, 

For muckle anes an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aflF the drift. 

An' wander' d through the bow-kail. 
An' pou't, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or uane, 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther; 
The vera wee-things, todlin', rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; 
An' gif the custoc's sweet or sour, 

W^i' joctelegs they taste them j 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've placed them 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw frae mang them a' 
To pou their stalks o' corn f 

But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 
Behint the muckle thorn : 



1 The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant of kail. They must 
go out, hauJ-in-hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with : its being bij; or 
little, strai^'ht or crooked, is prophetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all 
their spells — the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is tocher, 
or fortune; and the taste of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the 
natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give them their ordinary appel- 
lation, the runts, are placed somewhere above the head of the door: and the Christian 
names of the people whom chance brings into the house are, according to the priority of 
placing the runts, the names in question. 

- They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several times, a stalk of oats. If the 
third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is. the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in 
question will come to the marriage-bed anything but a maid. 



ROBERT BURNS. 103 

He grippet Nelly hard an' fast; 

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses; 
But hei" tap-pickle maist was lost, 

When kuittlin' in the fause-house^ 

Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel hoordet uits'^ 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads an' lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly • 
Some start awa' wi' saucy pride, 

And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e; 

Wha 'twas she wadua tell ; 
But this is Jock, an' this is me, 

She says in to hersel' : 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part; 
'Till, fuff ! he started up the lum, 

An' Jaen had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
An' Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie; 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it; 
While Willie lap, and swoor, by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that nic-ht. 



1 When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too green or wet. the stnck-builder, by 
means of old timber, &c., makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening in the 
side which is fairest exposed to the wind: this he calls a fause-house. 

2 Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and lass to each particular 
nut, as they lay them in the fire, and, according as they burn quietly together, or start 
from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship will be. 



104 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Nell had the faiise-house in lier miu', 

She pits hersel an' Rob in*; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

'Till white in ase they're sobbin' ; 
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view, 

She whisper' d Rob to leak for't : 
Rob, stowlius, prie'd her bonnie mou', 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs. 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; 
She lea'es them gashin' at their cracks, 

And slips out by hersel' : 
She through the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then. 
An' darklins graipit for the banks, 

And in the blue-clue^ throws then, 

Right fear't that night. 

An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin' ; 
^Till something held within the pat, 

Quid L — d ! but she was quaukin' I 
But whether 'twas the Deil hinisel', 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkiu' 

To spier that night. 

AYee Jenny to her grannie says 
" AYill ye go wi' me, grannie? 

I'll eat the apple^ at the glass, 
I srat frae uncle Johnnie :" 



1 AVIiopver would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observe these directions: 
Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; 
wind it in a clue off the old one; and towards the latter end, something will hold the 
thread; demand '• wha hnud.s?"' i. e. who holds? an answer will he returned from the 
kiln-pot. naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse. 

- Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass; eat an apple before it, and some tradi- 
tions suy, you should comb your hair all the time; the face of your conjugal compauion, 
to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping over your shoulder. 



ROBERT BURNS. 105 

She fuff 't her pipe wi' sic a luiit, 

111 wrath she was sae vap'riu', 
She notic't iia, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night. 

''Ye little skelpie-linimer's heel 

I daur jou try sic sportiu', 
As seek the foul Thief onie place, 

For him to spae your fortune : 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For nionie a ane has gotten a fright, 

An' liv'd an' died deleeret 

On sic a night. 

'' Ae hairst afore the Sherra-nioor, 

I niind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

I was nae past fifteen : 
The simmer had been eauld an' wat, 

An' stuff was unco green; 
An' ay a rantin' kirn we gat, 

An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

'' Our stibble-rig was Kab M'Graen, 

A clever, sturdy fellow : 
He's sin gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That liv'd in Achmacalla : 
He gat hemp-seed,' I mind it weel. 

And he made unco light o't; 
But monie a day was by himsel', 
He was sae sairly frighted 

That vera nio-ht." 



1 steal out uiii)oiTeiv(Hl, and sow a handful of hempsoed, lian-owing it with anything 
you can convoiiieiitly draw after you. IJcpeat, now and then, '• Hemp-seed, I saw thee; 
Lemp-seed, 1 saw thee ; and him (or her) that is to be my true love, come after me and pou 
thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the person in- 
voked, in the attitude of puUiiis hemp. Some traditions .say, '-Come after me and shaw 
thee," that is, .«how tliy.self ; in which c.i.so it simply appears. Others omit the harrowing, 
and say, •• Come after me, and harrow thee." 



106 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Then up gat foolitin' Jamie Fleck, 

An' he t<\vore by his conscience, 
That ho could saw hemp-seed a peck; 

For it was a' but nonsense ; 
The aulil puidniau raught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk. 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 

An' try't that night. 

lie marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The graip he for a harrow taks, 

An' liaurls at his curpin ; 
And ev'ry now an' then he says, 

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, an' draw thee 

As fast that night." 

He whistled up Lord Lennox' march. 

To keep his courage cheery; 
Altho' his hair began to arch. 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie; 
'Till presently he hears a squeak, 

An' then a grano an' gruntle ; 
He bv his shouther gae a keek. 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Out-owre that night. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout. 

In dreadfu' desperation I 
An' young an' auld cam rinnin' out. 

An' hear the sad narration ; 
He swoor 'twas hilohin Jean 3I'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Ilumphie, 
'Till, stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An' wha was it but Grumphie 

Astecr that nidit ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 107 

Mep; fain wad to the barn liae gaen, 

To will three weehts o'naethingj^ 
But for to meet the deil her hiue, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red chcekit apples, 
To watch, while for the barn she sets, 

In hopes to see Tim Kipples 

That vera night. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 

An' owre the threshold ventures; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters : 
A ratton rattled up the wa'. 

An' she cried, L — d, preserve her ! 
An' ran thro' midden-hole an' a'. 

An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack he faddom't thrice,^ 

Was tinimer-propt for thrawin' ; 
He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak, 

For some black, grousome carlin ; 
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

'Till skin in blypes cam haurlin' 

Aif 's nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Lcezie was, 
As canty as a kittlin ; 



' This charm must likewise ho performetl, unpproeivoci, and alone. You go to the barn, 
and opmi both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible; for there is danger that the 
being about to appear may shut the doors and do you some misrhief. Then take that 
instrument used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dnilect, we call a wecht ; 
and go through all tJie altitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat it three 
times; and the third time, an apparition will pass through the barn, in at the windy 
door, and out at the other, httving both the figure in question, and the appearance or 
retinue, marking the emiiloymeiit or station in life. 

2 Take an opportunity of going unnoticed, to a bean stack, and fathom it three times 
around. Tho last fathom of the last time, you will catch in your arms the appearance of 
your future conjugal yoke-fellow. 



108 T II E r K T 1 C A L W K K S F 

But, ocli ! that iiinlit aniaiiL;; tlio sliaws, 

She got a fcartu' scttlin' ! 
Slio tliro' the whitis, an' by the cairn, 

All' uwre the hill gaed scrioviii, 
"Whare throe lairds' lands met at a burn/ 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was beat that night. 

"Whyles owro a linn the biirnie plays, 

As (hr()uu,h the glen it winipl't; 
^Miyles round a rocky scaur it strays, 

^VIlyl^'s in a wicl it dinipl't; 
AVhyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dn/./.lo; 
AVhyles cookit underneath the braes, 

J)elow the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 

Aniang the brackens on the brae, 

]}etween her an' the moon, 
The deil, or else an outlcr quey, 

(jiat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist la]i the hool ! 

Near lav'rock-height she junipit, 
]>nt mist a fit, an' in the ])0()1 

Out-ovvre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 
The luggies three" arc ranged. 

And cv'ry time great care is ta'en, 
To see them duly changed : 



I You go out, one or more, for this is a sociiil spell, to n south running spring or rivulet, 
whtiro " throo lairils' lanils myi't," and dip your left sUirt-slocvo. (>o to bed in sight of a 
tire, niul hang your wot sloeves beforo it to dry. Lie awako : and, some tinio near mid- 
night, an apparition having the ex.-iet tigure of the grand objoet in iiuesliou, will oomo 
and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. 

- I'aKe three dishes: jiut elean water iu one. foul water in anotlier, and leave the third 
empty ; blindfold a person and load hiiu to the hearth where the ili.>;hes are ranged, he ^or 
she) dips the left hand : if by chftuee in tlie elean wat»-r, tho future hu.-iband or wife will 
eome to the bar of matrimony a maid; it in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it 
foretells, with equal eertiiinty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three times, and every 
timt) the arrangement of the dishes is altured. 




' /v// //'//.J ///^/r/' /r ////'///// 



4^y ,f //ft/// //'/ffitt' f/^/t/ i/f^/ 

y /ry///'// //yf//^^/y^^/f ////^ /y/f^- 
. '"///f/ /ftv/fy //'V.t ^/.t /t//f 



i; () i; i; i; t r. r ii n s. 

AiiM uncle. .Iiiliii, wli.i wnlldck's joys 

Sill Mar's-ycMT did desire, 
]J(!e.'ms(' li(! i;:it tlui looiii-disli tJiric.o, 

He liciav'd tliuui on tJie i'wc. 

Ill wi'.illi tliiit, iiiu'Iit. 

^Vi' luorry win^K, iiiid friendly cnieks, 

I w;it, tliey did lui we;n y ; 
All' uiKtii hdes, nil' riiiiiiie jnko.s, 

Their sjiorts wens elu!;i[» an' cIi(!oryj 
Till biittci''d so'iis,' wi' l'rii<:niiit luiit, 

Set, a,' tlieir t;al)S :i-ste(^riii' ; 
SyiK!, wi' ;i social <;lass o' striinr, 

Tlioy parted all' careeiiii' 

J*'u' hlylhe tlial, iii^lit. 



101) 



MAN WAS MADK TO MOUllN. 



I'l'lii^ ni-i^'iti 111' this lliin ) Ill Ih iilliiili'il (o hy UnniH in iim- (pC Ii'ik Ictt.crH to IMm. Dun- 

111], : ■• I li;i(l III! (.Ill t,'i'i'i'liiii''l'' Willi whnm rii.y lliiT lived in licr tjli'llMli ycMirH; Ihv 

^'od.l (.M man wiis !c,n;r 'iliml ci'^ lin ilicd, (luring wliicli time Ills liiirlK^fl I'MJoyiiiiMil wns 
In nil and (1 V, wliilc my niollici' wcnild siuK llin Hliniilc old KnliU of ' 'I'lic Mil- lilid Akc nf 
Miin,' " I'll. in IL.il hilly VdiiLralili! woiiinii, liiliK iif'liT tlio dciitli (if liiir dlNllnnulslK^l Hon, 
Croiiiik, ill mll.cliii),' (lio lfi)ll(|Ui'H, olitjiiiiod u copy liy rccKiilioii of lint oldiM- Hfriilii. 
'J'lioM^'li llii' lone :ind n'liliiiinnl, cipincidc dourly willi '• Man wiiH iiiadc In ni'iiini," I iigrno 
WilU J.o(;Uliiirl, Mial, IliiniK wroir il in ohrdirinv lo liis own lial.il iinl li'dinnK. | 

^Vll^:N cliill Novciiiilxir's mirly bla.st 

I\Iad(i fi(!ld,s and foresls ))are, 
One (^v'liiiiii; as 1 wandered forlli 

Alonji; the hanks of Ayr, 
1 s]»y'd a man whoso at^ed step 

Seein'd weary, worn with ear(^; 
His fa(;<! was furrow'd o'er with ycsars, 

And hoary was his hair. 

" Yoiiiif:; straii;^;er, whitlii'r waiid'i'est thou'/" 

Began tin; niv'nuid sao;(!; 
"Does tliirst of wealth tliy step eonstraiii, 

Or youthful pleasure's ra<;(' '/ 



• gowi-iiH, with butter ingtcad of milk to them, Ib nlwiiyu thu liuUuwuini Huppur. 
10 



no 'I' 11 i: V () V. T I (' A L W U K S F 

Or liJiiilv, jircst witli caivs niul woos, 

'J\)o soon thou linst boi;;m 
To wandiM- forth, with mo to luouni 

The iiii.seru's of man. 

'' The sun that ovei]\ani;s yon moors, 

Out-spreadini; tar and wide, 
AVhere hundreds hdmur to support 

A hauiihty K>rdHnii's pride : 
I've seen yon weary winter-suu 

Twice forty tinu^s return, 
And ev'rv time lias added ))roofs 

That man was made to mourn. 

'' man I whiU' in thv early years, 

How prodigal of time 1 
^liss]HMidini;' all thy preeio\is liours. 

Thy ii'lorious youtht'ul prime ! 
Alteriuite follies take the sway ; 

Lieentious passions burn ; 
"\Vhieh tent\)ld foree u'ives nature's law, 

Tliat uian was made to mourn. 

" liOok not alone on youthful juimo, 

Or manhood's aetive miirht ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported in his riiiht : 
]>ut see him on the edij,o of life, 

AVilh eares and sorrows worn ; 
Then ago and want — oh ! ill-mateh'd pair I- 

Show niau was made to mourn. 

*' A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap earest : 
Yet, think not all the rieh and j^reat 

Are likewise truly blest. 
]>ut, oh I what erowds in every land. 

All wretehed and forlorn I 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn — 

That man was made to mourn. 



R O^B ER ,T ^ B.U^R^N, S Ill 

'^ Many and sharp the nuni'ruus ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

" See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow- worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, though a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

"If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave — 

By Nature's law design'd — 
"Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

" Yet, let not this too much, my son. 

Disturb thy youthful breast ; 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the best ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 

'' Death ! the poor man's dearest friend — 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour, my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 



112 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 
From pomp ami pleasure toru ! 

But, oh ! a blest relief to those 
That weary-laden mourn/' 



TO RUIN. 

I" I have Ix't'n." says Burns, in his common-place book, '• taking a peep through, as 
Youuji; finely says, 'The dark postern of time luni^ ehipscd.' 'Twas a rueful prospect! 
AVliat a tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly! my life reminded us of a ruined 
temple. What strength, what proportion in some parts, what unsightly gaps, what 
prostrate ruins in others!" The fragment, To Kuin, seems to have had it.s origin in 
moments such as these.] 

AlT; hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cniel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'riug and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Though thick'ning and blaek'ning, 
Hound my devoted head. 

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford. 
Oh ! hear a wretch's prayer ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 
To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day ; 
My weary heart its throbbing cease. 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face ; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 113 

TO JOHN GOUDIE, OF KILMARNOCK. 

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

[This burning commentary, by Burns, on the Essays of Goudie in the Maegill contro- 
versy, was first published by Stewart, with the Jolly Beggars, in ISOl ; it is akin in life 
and spirit to Holy Willie's Prayer; and may be cited as a sample of the wit and the force 
which the poet brought to the great, but now forgotten, controversy of the West.] 

Goudie ! terror of the Whigs, 
Dread of black coats and rev' rend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, ou her last legs, 

Girniu', looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowerin' Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition : 
Fie ! bring Black Jock, her state physician, 

To see her water : 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple. 
But now she's got an unco ripple; 
Haste, gie her name up i' the chapel, 

Nigh unto death ; 
See, how she fetches at the thrapple. 

An' gasps for breath. 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 

Gaen in a gallopin' consumption, 

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, 

Will ever mend her. 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption 

Death soon will end her. 

'Tis you and Taylor^ ai*e the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief, 
But gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, 

A toom tar-barrel. 
An' twa red peats wad send relief. 

An' end the quarrel. 

1 Dr. Taylor, of Norwich. 
10* 



114 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

TO J. LATRAIK. 

AN til.D SCOTTISH HARD. 
(FIUST EVISTLE.) 

["Tho epistlo to John Laprnik,'' says (Jilbort Hums, "was produced exactly on the 
Occasion describod by the author. Ivockins is a term dirivcd from primitive limes, whcu 
our country- women employed their spare hours in spinning: on the roko or distaff. This 
simpki instrument is a very portable one; and well fitted to the social inclination of meet- 
ing; in a neiithbour's house; hence tho phrase of poing a rocking, or with the roUe. As 
the connexion the phrase had with tho implement was forgotten when tho roke gave place 
to the spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be u.>ied by both sexes on social occasious, and 
men talk of going with their rokes as well as womeu."J 

April Isf, 1785. 
"NViiiLK Lrievs an' woodbines budding green, 
An' paitrieks scrairliia' loud at e'en, 
An' morning })onssie wliidden seen, 

Inspire my muse, 
This freedom in an unlvnown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fastcn-ccn we had a rockin', 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin', 

And there was muckle fun an' jokin', 

Ye need na doubt; 
At length we had a hearty yokin' 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas' d me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife; 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard aught describ'd sae woel, 
What gen'i'ous manly bosoms feel, 
Thought I, "Can this be Pope or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ?" 
They told me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 



ROBERT BURNS. 115 

It pat mc fid2;iu-f:iiii to hear't, 
And sac about him tliere I spier' t, 
Tlieu a' that ken't him round dechu-'d 

He had iiijiiio, 
That, uaue excell'd it, few can) near't, 

It was sac fiue. 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 

An' either douce or merry tale, 

Or rhymes au' sangs he'd made himsel', 

Or witty catches, 
'Twccn Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith. 

The' I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 

Or die a cadger pownie's death 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 

But, first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle fell. 

The' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel', 

Does wecl enough. 

I am nae poet in a sense, 

But just a rhymer, like, by chance, 

An' hac to learning nae pretence, 

Yet what the matter ? 
Whene'er my muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, <' How can you e'er propose. 
You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang?" 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Yc're may-be wrang. 



1 I<! T II I'l IM) KT I (; A L W (> II K S F 

Wluit's :i' ydiir j;iri;(iii o' your sclxtnis, 
^'(Hir liJiliii iiiiiiH's lor lioriis an' stools^ 
\i lioiu'sl, Mailing iiia(l(> you i'ools, 

What sairs your t;ranuiiar.s ? 
YoM better la'eii u\) spades aiul sliools, 

Or l;iiaii]»in-liauuiiers. 

A seti ()' (lull, conceited hashes, 
("ionfuse their brains in coll(\!;'0 classes ! 
They i;':in;j; in stii'ks and eonu> o\it asses, 

I Main truth to s])eak ; 
An' syne they think to erunb l'arnass\is 

Hy dint o' (ireek ! 

(lie )U(> a(> s])ark o' Nature's (ire! 

'I'hat's a' tbe learning; I dc\sire ; 

Then thou_>;li I drud<;'e thro' dub an' mire 

At ]»leuiili or cart-, 
IMy nmse, though haniely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

l'(»r a spunlc o' Allan's i;lee, 

Or Fcrgusson's, the bauld and slee, 

Or bright Ijapraik's, my tVieiul to be, 

li' I can hit it ! 
That would hv \ci\r eneusA'b for uie, 

If 1 could get it. 

Now, sir, if yo hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, 1 b'lieve, are few, 
Vet, if your i-alalogiu' be fu', 

I'si' no insist. 
But gif yo want ae fri(>nd that's true — 

I'm on your list. 

I winna blaw about mysel ; 

As ill 1 like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends an' folk that wish uu> well. 

They sometimes rooso mcj 
Tho' 1 maun own, as monie still 

As I'ar abuse me. 



ROBERT BURNS. 117 

There's ac woo I'aut tlicy wliiU'S lay to mo, 

I like the lassos — Ciudo for<j,ie iiic ! 

For inoiilc a plaok they Avhecdlo frac mo, 

At daiiec or lair; 
May be some ither thing they gie me 

Tlu^y wcel can spare. 

]?ut IManchliiio race, or Mauchliiie I'air; 
I should he proud to meet you there ! 
Wc'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather. 
An' hao a swap o' rhymin'-ware 

\Vi' an(! anithcr. 

The four-gill chap, we'sc gar him clatter. 
An' kirscn him wi' rcokin' water; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 

'W) cheer our heart j 
An' faith, wc'se be accpiainted better, 

IJeforc we part. 

Awa, ye selfish, warly race, 

Wha think that havins, sense, an' grace, 

Ev'n love an' friendship, should give place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I diiiiia like to sec your face. 

Nor hear your crack. 

]?ut ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Wli(js(! hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your hciiiig on the terms, 

" Vhvh aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, comt; to my arms, 

My fri(!nds, my brdthers! 

]>ut, to conclude my lang epistle. 

As my auld pen's worn to the grissle; 

Twa lines frae you wad gar me fisshi, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant. 



118 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

TO J. LA PEA IK. 

(second epistle.) 

[The John Laprnik to whom thepe epistles are addressed lived at Dalfram in the neigh 
bouihood of Muirkirk, and was a rustic worshipper of the Muse : he unluckily, however 
involved himself in that Western bubble, the Ayr Bank, and consoled himself by com- 
posing iu his distress that song which moved the heart of Burns, beginning 

" 'When I upon thy bosom lean." 
lie afterwards published a volume of verse, of a quality which proved that the inspira- 
tion in his song of domestic sorrow was no settled power of soul.] 

April 21s(, 1785. 
While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake, 
Au' pownies reek in pleugh or braik. 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take 

To own I'm debtor 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter. 



Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs, 
Eattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten hours' bite, 
My awkart muse sair pleads and begs, 

I would na write. 



The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy. 
Quo' she, " Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 

This month' an' mair, 
That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie. 

An' something sair." 

Her dowff excttses pat me mad : 

" Conscience," says I, " ye thowless jad ! 

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

This vera night; 
So diuna ye aflfront your trade. 

But rhyme it right. 

" Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 



ROBERT BURNS. 119 

Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 

Yet ye'll neglect to show your parts, 

An' thank him kindly V 

Sae I gat paper in a blink. 

An' down gaed sturapie in the ink : 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it; 
An' if ye winua mak it clink, 

By Jove I'll prose it I" 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither. 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 

Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp^ 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland-harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how fortune waft an' warp; 

She's but a b-tch. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg. 

As lang's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet despite the kittle kimmer, 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city gent, 
Behint a kist to lie and sklent, 



120 THE POETICAL W 11 K S OF 

Or purse-proiul, big wi' ccut. per cent. 

Aud muckle wiuiie, 
In some bit brugh to represent 

A baillie's name ? 

Or ijs't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' rnffl'd sark an' glancing cane, 
"NVlia thinks hinisel nae sheep-shank banc 

lint lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets aff are taca, 

As by he walks ! 

" O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 

(lie nie o' wit an' sense a lift, 

Then turn nie, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift. 

In a' their pride !" 

Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain' o' hell be rich an' groat," 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond reniead ; 
But, thanks to Ileav'n, that's no the gate 

We learn our creed. 

lA)r thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he bo, 
'Tis he fulfils groat Nature's plan, 

An' none but he !" 

O mandate, glorious and divine! 
The foHowers o' the ragged Nine, 
Voor thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 

In glorious light, 
Wliile sordid sons o' Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl, 
Their worthless uievfu' of a soul 



ROBERT BURNS. 121 

May in some future carcase howl 

The forest's fright; 
Or iu some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Tlicn may Lapraik and IJurns arise, 
To reach their native kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joy3 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 



TO J. LAPRAIK. 

(third epistle.) 



[T have heard one of our most distinguished English poets recite with a port of ecstasy 
some of the verses of these epistles, and praise fho ease of the language and the happinesa 
of llie thoughts. He averred, however, that the poet, when pinched for a word, hesitated 
not to coin one, and instanced, "tapotless," " ramfee/.led," and " forjesket." as intrusions 
in our dialect. These words seem indeed, to some Scotchmen, strange and uncouth, but 
tliey are true words of the west.] 

Sej^t. ISfh, 1785. 
GuiD speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 
Guid health, hale han's, an' weather bonny j 
Now when ye' re nickan down fu' canny 

The staff o' bread. 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs. 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Scndin' the stuff o'er muirs an' haggs 

Like drivin' wrack; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' at it. 

But bitter, daudin' showers hae wat it, 

Sae my auld stunipie pen I gat it 

\Vi' muckle wark, 

An' took my jocteleg an' whatt it. 

Like ony dark. 
11 



122 THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

It's now twa mouth that I'm yom- debtor 
For your braw, nameless, dateless letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men, 
While deil a hair yoursel' ye' re better. 

But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sel's ; 
We'll cry uac jads frae heathen hills 

To help, or roose us. 
But browster wives an' whiskey stills, 

They arc the muses. 

Your friendship, Sir, I winna quat it. 

An' if ye make objections at it, 

Then han' in nieve some day we'll knot it, 

An' witness take, 
An' when wi' Usquabae we've wat it 

It wiuna break. 

But if the beast and branks be spar'd 
Till kyc be gaun without the herd. 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theekit right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vit;c 

Shall make us baith sae blythe an' witty, 

Till ye forget ye' re auld an' gatty, 

An' be as canty. 
As ye were nine year less than throtty, 

Sweet anc an' twenty : 

But stocks are cowpet wi' the blast, 
An' now the sin keeks in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quat my chanter; 
Sae I subscribe myself in haste, 

Yours, Rab the Ranter. 



R0I5EUT BURNS. 1-3 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, 

OCHILTREE. 

[Tbo person to whom tliis epistle is nddrusseJ, was schoolmaster of Ocliiltreo, ami nftn-- 
wards of New Lanark: bo was a wriler of vorscs too, liljo many more of the poet's coui- 
raJes ; — of versos which rose not above the barren level of mediocrity : " one of bis poems," 
says Chambers, " was a laughable elegy on the death of the Euiperor Paul." In his verses 
to Burns, under the name of a Tailor, there is nothing to laugh at, though they are 
intended to be lau;;hablo as well as monitory.] 

71%, 1785. 
I OAT your letter, Aviu.somc Willie; 
\Vi' gnitet'ii' heart I thank you brawlie; 
Tlio' I mauu say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin' billie, 

Your flatterin' strain. 

])ut I'se believe ye kindly uioant it, 
J ,sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented 

On my poor IMusic ; 
Till/ in sic phraisin' terin.s ye'vc pcnu'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

]\Iy scn.ses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to sped, 
\Vi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame; 
Or Fcrgusson, the writer chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(0 Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts. 

Ye Enbrugh gentry ! 
The tythc o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 
As whiles they're like to be my dead 
(0 sad disease !) 



rji 



T II V. I'O KT I i' A I. W i; K S O K 



I Ivitllci up \\\y nisllc reed, 

It glcs wo ciiso. 

Aiild ('uilii, imw, in;iv liil,i;t' In' I'liiii, 

Site's ^iitlcii ))(io(m t»' litT iiiii, 

('liicl.M wliii llu'ir cliiiiilrrH \viiin;i li.iiii, 

l?iil I line ( licir l.iyM, 
Till ('I'liot's ii' rt'soiiiiil iip,iiiii 

lltT wi'i'l siiii;-, |ir,'ii,st>, 

Nm(> iKicI llioui'Jil licr wdilli liis wliilc, 
'I'd set lii>r iiMiiH' in iiHS'isiir'd slilc ; 
Slu- lay like smut' iinli<>in\'(l-i»r isld 

U('si(l(> Ni"\v-IIo1Iiuh1, 
Oi' wlinrc will! nici'lin;'; in'Cims Ixiil 

Im'S(1ii(1i IM.'ii^cllaii. 

IV'imsMV nn' rmiums I*\'i-i;'ussi)n 
(iit'd lAirtli mid 'r.'iy n lift idntitii ; 
Narrow an' 'I'win'd, Id nimiit' a tunc, 

( )\\\\^ Scut laud iiui;'s, 
>\liiK> Irwiu, l<iit';ar, Ayr, n\\' Piioii, 

Nao liudy sini^s, 

'I'll' llissuM, TiliiM", Thiinios, !in' Soiiio, 
(Jlido s\V(>ot ill iiionio a tiimd'n' lint'! 
Hnl, Willio, si>l yonr lit In iuin.\ 

An' cork vi»\n' rn>s(, 
We'll j;ar our slreaiiis an' Imrnit's sliiiu> 

lip \vi' llu" lu>st. 

\\\''\\ siui;- auld ("oila's plains au' I'l'lls. 

II cr uuior's ri>d-l>ro\vu \vi' luvilluM' W\U, 
llor hanks an' l»ra(>s, ln>r dt>us an' dells. 

WluMV .vloiions Wallaeo 
Al'l Imie (ho u'lVO, as stul'V letls, 

I''rai» soiidiron billies. 

At Wallaee' uauie, what Seottish hlood 
Ihil hoils \ip in a sptin;': tide Hood ! 
(>ri have our f'earless lathers s(vodi> 

Uv Wallaeo' side, 



HO I! K I! 'I' 1! II i; N S. 



126 



(Still pressing' oiiwiird, hmI \v;i(- .sIkkI, 
( )r i;liirioMS dy'il. 

() swtM'd iirc (-oila's li;iii;^lis iiii' wmkmIh, 
WIh'Ii liiitwliihis cliMiil- immii!;' (lio liiids, 
Ami jiukiii' liiircs, in iiiiiDnnis wliiils 

Tiicir ln\('S ciljdV, 
A\'liil(> lliro' llii' liracs tlic ciisluit ciiiiiils 
Willi wiiili'ii' cry ! 

Mv'ii winlcr Mciik li;is cliiirins in me 
W'iicii \viii<ls r:iv<' lliro' llic ii.'iKcd dec; 
< >r iVnsIs (III liiils i>r ()( Inllrcc 

A re liniirv <^v:\y : 
()r lilliidiii!'; dril'ls wild fKiiniis lice, 

DMrk'niiii; ( he diiy. 

O Nidiini ! ii' lliy sliows iiii' loriiis 
'\\) IVcliiiti', ]ii'iisiv(' licnrls line (dianiis ! 
^VIl('llH'|• (lie siiimiu'r liiiidl\' \\;iriiis, 

\Vi' lil'i; im' li-lil, 
Or winter liowls, in ji^^nsly slornis, 

'I'll.' I.in-:, diirk nivlil ! 

Tlir nmsi', m;ii' I'iu'I cvt'i" l";ind Iicr, 
"I'd! Iiy Inniscl' Ik- Icarn'd (o wiiiidcr, 
AdnwM niiMic Irnllin:', Imrn's nicjindcr, 

An' no I ldid< l:in<i;; 
() Mwoct, U) .sl.niy :in' iimsivc iiimdcr 

A li.'.irl I'cll HMn.-;'! 

Tlic Av;ir'l\ r.'ico ni;iy diMuli^c im' drive, 
ll()j;-sli(iullii'r, jnMdi(^ stretch an' stjive, 
Tiel. \Ui' fair Nid lire's \'\\cr deserive, 

And I, wi' |ileasMi'<', 
Shall let- the husy, ijrnnddiiii;' hive 

Itiini (i\vr<- their Ireasiii'e. 

I*'are\veel, my " rli\ nu'-eiiiii|iiisiiii; hrilher!" 
We've jteen itwre lani;; iirdienn'd to illier: 
Ndw let- iiH lay niir heads iheidthei', 
I n lii\'e iValei nal ; 
11 » 



1-0 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

May envy Avallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal I 

While Highlandnien hate tolls an' taxes; 
While luoorlan' herds like guid fat braxies* 
While terra firma, on her axes 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 

In Robert Burns. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

jNIy memory's no worth a preen : 

I had aniaist foraotten clean. 

Ye bade me write you what they mean, 

By this New Light, 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans, 

At grammar, logic, an' sic talents. 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans, 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon, 
Just like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
AVore by degrees, 'till her last roou, 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain — undisputed ; 
It ne'er cam i' their hands to doubt it, 
'Till duels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, wecl learn'd upo' the beuk. 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 127 

For 'twas the auld moon turned a neuk, 

An' out o' sight, 
An' baclvlins-comin', to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was deny'd, it was affirm'd; 

The herds an' hissels were ahirni'd : 

The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd and storm'd 

That beardless kiddies 
Should think they better were iuform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks, 
An' mouie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' Auld Light caddies bure sic hands. 
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
'Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New Light herds gat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe, 
Till now amaist on every knowe, 

Ye'll find ane plac'd 
An' some their New Light fair avow. 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the Auld Light flocks are bleatin' ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin' : 
Mysel', I've even seen them greetin' 

Wi' girnin' spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lie'd on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the loons ; 
Some Auld Light herds in neibor towns 



1 28 T 11 1-; r ( ) ic t i c a l w o r k s of 

Arc iiiimrt ill tilings tlu>y ca' balloons, 
To tak a fli.uht, 

An' stay ao month aniaiis;- the moons 

And see them right. 

(uiitl observation they will gie them: 

An' Avlien the anld moon's gaun to lea'e them, 

Tiie himlmost shairel, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the New Light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch! 

8ae, ye observe that a' this clatter 

Is naething but a "moonshine matter;" 

]5nt tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
1 hope wo bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



ADDRESS TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. 

[This hasty and not very decorous efTusion, was orisin.iUy entitled " The Poet's ■Wel- 
come; or, Kill) the Rhymer's Address to his liiistnrd Child."' A copy, with the moro 
softened, hut le.«s expressive title, w,HS published by Stew.nrt. in 1801, nniX is alluded to 
by Burns himself, in his hio^r-iphieal letter to Moore. '• llonnie Betty." the mother of Iho 
'■sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Be.s.s," of tho Inventory, lived in Largieside : to support 
this daughter the poet ui.ide over the copyright of his works when ho proposed to go to 
Iho West Indies. She lived to be a woman, and to marry one .John Bishop, overseer at 
I'olkemniet. where shi- died in 1S17. It is said she resembled Burns quite as much as any 
of the i-est of his children.] 

Thou's welcome, wean, mischanter fa' me, 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever dauntou me, or awe me. 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 

"Wee image of my bonny Betty, 
I, fatherly, will kiss and daut thee, 
As dear and near my heart I set thee, 

AVi' as gude will 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' hell. 



ROBERT BURNS. 129 

What tlio' tliey ca' me foruicator, 
All' tease my name in kintra clatter; 
The mair tliey talk I'm keut the better, 

E'eu let them clash ; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter 

To gie ane fash. 

Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin thou came to the warl asklent, 

Which fools may scoff at ; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't 

The better ha'f o't. 

An' if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
An' tak the counsel I sail gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee. 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, 

An' think't wool war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace an' merit, 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failins; 
'Twill please me mair to hear an' see it 

Than stocket mailens. 



NATURE'S LAW. 

A POEM HUMBLY INSCRIBKD TO G. H., ESQ. 
"Great nature spoke, observant man obey 'd."— Pope. 
[Tbis Poem was written by Burns at Mossgiel, and " humbly inscribed to Oavin Hamil- 
ton, Esq." It is supposed to allude to bis intercourse with .Jean Armour, with the cir- 
cumstanres of which he seems to have made many of bis comrades acquainted. These 
verses were well known to many of the admirers of the poet, but they remained in 
manuscript till given to the world by Sir Harris Nicolas, in Pickering's Aldine Edition of 
the British Poets.] 

Let other heroes boast their scars, 

The marks of sturt and strife; 
And other poets sing of Avnrs, 

The plagues of human life ; 



1-30 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Shame fa' the fun ; wi' sword and gun 
To slap mankind like lumber ! 

I sing his name, and nobler fame, 
Wha multiplies our number. 

Great Nature spoke with air benign, 

" Go on, ye human race ! 
This lower world I you resign ; 

Be fruitful and increase. 
The liquid fire of strong desire 

I've pour'd it in each bosom ; 
Here, in this hand, does mankind stand, 

And there is beauty's blossom." 

The hero of these artless strains, 

A lowly bard was he. 
Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains 

With meikle mirth an' glee ; 
Kind Nature's care had given his share, 

Large, of the flaming current ; 
And all devout, he never sought 

To stem the sacred torrent. 

He felt the powerful, high behest, , 

Thrill vital through and through ; 
And sought a correspondent breast. 

To give obedience due : 
Propitious Powers screen' d the young flowers, 

From mildews of abortion ; 
And lo ! the bard, a great reward, 

Has got a double portion ! 

Auld cantie Coil may count the day, 

As annual it returns. 
The third of Libra's equal sway. 

That gave another B[urns], 
AVith future rhymes, an' other times, 

To emulate his sire; 
To sing auld Coil in nobler style, 

With more poetic fire. 

Ye Powers of peace, and peaceful song, 
Look down with gracious eyes; 



ROBERT BURNS. 131 

And bless auld Coila, large and long, 

With multiplying joys : 
Lang may she stand to prop the land, 

The flow'r of ancient nations; 
And B[urns's] spring, her fame to sing, 

Thro' endless generations ! 



TO THE EEV. JOHN xM'MATH. 

[Poor M'Math was at the period of this epistle assistant to Wodrow, minister of Tarbol- 
tou.: he wus a good preacher, a moderate man iu matters of discipline, and an Intimate 
of the CoilsBeld Montgomerys. His dependent condition depressed his spirits: he grew 
dissipated; and finally, It is said, enlisted as a common soldier, and died in aforeigu hCnd.] 

Sq)t. 17 th, 1785. 

While at the stock the shearers cow'r 
To shun the bitter blaudin' show'r, 
Or in gulravage rinnin' scow'r 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My musie, tir'd wi' mony a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', and douse black bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie now she's done it, 

Lest they should blame her, 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it 

And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy. 
That I, a simple countra bardie. 
Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me. 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Lowse hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces, 
Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud faces. 
Their three-mile prayers, and hauf-mile o-races 

Their raxin' conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, an' pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 



132 THE r E T I C A L wo 11 K S OF 

There's Gaun/ misca't waur than a beast, 
"VVha has mair honour in his bi'cagt 
Than mony scores as guid's the priest 

Wha sac abus't him? 
Au' may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've usc't him. 

See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
Tlie gentleman in word an' deed, 
An' sliall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skcllums, 
An' not a muse erect her head 

To cowe the blellums ? 

Pope, had I thy satire's darts 
To gie tlie rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

xVn' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, I'm no the thing I shou'd be, 
Nor am I even the thing I cou'd bo, 
But twenty times, I rather wou'd be 

An atheist clean. 
Than under gospel colours hid be 

Just for a screen. 

An lionest man may lil<e a glass, 
An honest man may like a lass. 
But mean revenge, an' malice fiuxse 

He'll still disdain, 
An' then cry zeal for gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth, 
For what ? — to gie their malice skouth 

On some puir wiglit. 
An' hunt him down, o'er right, an' ruth, 

To ruin straight. 

1 Gavin Ilamiltou, Esq. 



12 



HOD KllT B URNS. 133 

All hail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
I'ardon a muse sae mean as mine, 
Who in her rough imperfect line, 

Thus daurs to name thee ; 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Tho' blotch'd an' foul wi' mony a stain, 

An' far unworthy of thy train. 

With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with tliose, 
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes : 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite of undermining jobs. 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, oven wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 

Ayr ! my dear, my native ground, 
"Witliin thy presbytcrial bound 
A candid lib'ral band is found 

Of public teachers, 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd. 

An' maidy preachers. 

8ir, in that circle you are nam'd ; 
Sir, ill that circle you are fam'd; 
An' some, by whom your doctrine's blam'd, 

(Which gics you lionour,) 
Even, Sir, by them your heart's esteem'd, 

An' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I liave ta'en. 
An' if impertinent I've been. 
Impute it not, good Sir, in anc 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd ye. 



lui THE rOETlCAL WORKS OF 

TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING HER Ur IN IlKll NKST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBEn, 1785. 

[This iH'nutiful poom wns iniajiinoil wliilo tlio poot was boUUng the plough, on tho farm 
of Mossj^ii'l : the ticUl is still poiiitrd out: and a man called Itlano is still liviuji. who saya 
ho was (jaiidsmaii to tlio hard at tho timo, and chasod tlu> niousi- witli tin- plough pettio, 
for which lu> was relinked hv his younu master, who imiuircd what liarm tho poor mouse 
had dono lilm. In the niirht tliat followed, Uurns awoko liis gandsnian, who was in tho 
same hed with liini, recited the poem as it now stands, and said, " What tlunk you of 
our mouse now t"] 

Wek, slockit, cnw'rin', tiin'roiis bcastic, . 
O, what a panic's in thy broastio ! 
Thdii nootl na start awa sac hasty, 

AVi' bickering brattle ! 
1 wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' niui'd'riug pattle ! 

I'm trnly sorry man's (.lomiiiion 
lias broken nature's social union, 
An' justilies tlitit ill o]>iiiion, 

^Vllil•ll makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion. 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whylcs, but thou may thieve; 
"What then !* ]>oor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daimen icker in a thrave 

's a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ; 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green ! 
An' bleak Pcceniber's winds ensuiii', 

iKiith snell ami keen ! 

Thou saw tho fields laid bare an' waste. 
An' weary winter oomin' fast. 
An' co/.ie here, beneath tlu^ blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
'Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thv cell. 



nor. H II T r. uiiNS. lo5 

That weo bit lioap o' leaves an' stibblo, 
Has cost thee luoiiy a weary nibble ! 
Now tliou's turn'd out, for u' tliy trouble, 

15 ut house or bald, 
To tbole the winter's sleety dribble, 

All' eraureueb cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving' forcsioht nuiy be vain : 
The best kid schemes o' niiee an' uieu 

(lang aft a-jiley. 
An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, 

For prouiis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, eonipar'd wi' nie ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
]Jut, oeh ! I backward east my e'e, 

Oh prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' 1 eanna see, 

I guess an' fear. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

" Oit- liim stronjt ilrink, until lio wink, 
That's siiikiii}; in ddspjiir; 
Air lliiuorK'iiUl til tiro liis liliiM, 
'I'lmt's pri'st wi' ni-iof iin' cniv, 
Tlicri- lot him bouso, iiu' lU'cp (.•iirouso, 

Wi' buiiipers flowinj; o'er, 
Till hu fi)r{.'ntH his loves or debts, 
An' minds his griefs no more." 

Solomon's PnovF.nn, xxxi. fl, 7. 

f" I luM-o oncl(>s(> yon," siiid limns. "JO Miuch, I'SCi, to his friend Kennedy, "'my Scotch 
l)rink; 1 hope some time before we hear the (;owk, to have the iileasure of .seeinj; yon at 
Kilmarnock : when 1 intend we shall have a gill botweou us, in a mutehkin stoup."] 

liK'r other poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' dru'ken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names and stories wrack us, 

An' grate our big, 
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us. 

In glass or jug. 

O JO 



l;]C) 



T II K I'OHTK'AL AY 11 K S OF 



(), tliuu, my !Miis(>! linid mild Scotch drink; 
WhotluT duo' wiiiipliii' worms lluui jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream o'or the brink, 

in li'lorious faoni, 
Inspire nu", till 1 lisp an' wink, 

To sini;- thy name ! 

Lot Imsky wheat tlio liaut;lis adorn, 
An' ails set u\^ their awnie horn, 
An' peast' an' beans, at e'en or morn, 

I'eri'nme llu' plain, 
Leozo luo on thee, John Marleycurn, 

'I'hou king o' graiu ! 

On (hee at't Seotlaml ehows her eood. 
In Simple si'om\s, (h(> wale o' I'ood ! 
()r (nmblin' in (lie boilin' Hood 

AVi' kail an' beef; 
l)nt when (hon jiours thy strong lioart's blood. 

There thou shines ehief. 

ImhxI iills the wame, an' kee]>s ns livin' ; 

Tho' lit'e's a gilt no worth reeiMvin' 

AViien heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin' ; 

J>ut, oil'd hy thee. 
The wheels o' life gao downhill, serievin', 

AVi' rattlin' glee. 

Thou t'lears the head o' doitod Loar ; 
Thou eluHM-s the heart o' drooping Cave; 
'.riiou strings the nerves o' Labovu' sair, 

At's weary toil; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

At't, elad in massy, siller weed, 
AVi' gentles thou ereets thy head; 
Yet humbly kind in tinu* o' need. 

The pom- man's wine, 
His wee drap parriteh, or his bread. 

Thou kitehons lino. 



11 11 I'] \l T r. U 11 N s. 



137 



I'liou art tlio life o' jmblic liiiviiits; 

IJiit tlu'i', wliat were" our I'airs an' rants? 

J*]v'ii L;'t>(lly nuH'tinii's o' the vsaiints, 

}ly tlu'ii inspir'd, 
AVlu'n i^ajiing tlioj bcsioi^c* the tents, 

Arc <l(iutily lir'd. 

That mony ni<;lit avc is,vt tlio corn in, 
swiH'tly tluMi thou roams tho lioiai in ! 
Or ivokin' on a ncw-yt'ar nuu'niu';' 

In cot;' or birk*M', 
An' just !i wi!o ilrap sp'ritual burn in, 

An' iiiisly sui'ktT ! 

'When Vulcan i;ics his bellows bri'ath, 
An' ploun'hnuMi gather \vi' their i;i'aith, 
rare ! to stH) thee li/./ an' i'reath 

I ' tir luuuet can]) I 
Then Jiurnewiu conu's on like Death 

At ev'ry chaup. 

Nae iiierey, then, for aim or steel ; 
Th(> brawnie, bainie, ])loiii;hnian eliic-l, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

'JMic stroiii;- t'orehaninier, 
Till block an' studdic rinu' an' nud 

AVi' dinsonic clanionr. 

When slvirlin' weaiiios see the lij;ht, 
Thou maks tho li'ossips clatter briuht. 
How I'uniblin' euil's their dearies slight ; 

W ;u? worth the name ! 
Nao liowdio gets a social night, 

()i- plack iVao them. 

AVhen neibors augcM- at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
llow easy can tho barloy-broo 

( 'enient the ((uarnd ! 
It's aye tho (du'a]iest lawyer's Ice, 

To taste tho barrel. 
12* 



138 T II 1-: r o !•; t i c \ l w o k k s of 

Alake ! that o'er my innse has reason 
To wyto her eoiuitryuioii \vi' treason! 
Hut monie (hiily woet th(>ir weason 

Wi' ru|uors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her priec. 

Wao worth that brandy, burnin-i" trash ! 
I'ell sonree o' nionie a ])ain an' brash ! 
Twins niunic a poor, doylt, (h'uken hash, 

{)' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, anld Seotland's eash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Seots, wha wish anld Seotland well. 
Ye ehief, to you my tale 1 tell, 
l*oor plackless devils like mysel'. 

It sets yon ill, 
"\Vi' bitter, dearthf'u' wines to nudl. 

Or foreign gill. 

IMay gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts tornnMit him xuvh by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain. 
Out owre a glass o' whiskey ])nneh 

Wi' honest men; 

O whiskey ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a liardie's gratefu' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poitr verses ! 
Tlmu comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a — s ! 

Thee. Ferintosh ! O sadly h.st ! 
8ci»tland lanuMit frae coast to coast! 
Now colic grips, an' barkin' hoast, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes's charter'd boast 

Is tii'ou awa. 



ROBERT 15 UllNS. 139 

Tli;ic curst hor.sc-lceches o' th' Excise, 
"W'liu iiiak tlie whiskey stells their prize! 
lliiud up tliy luui', Doil ! aiice, twice, thrice! 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake tlieui up in brunstane i)ies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'U but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' whiskey gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest. 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 



THE AUTnOIl'S EMINENT CRY AND PIIAYER TO THE 

SCOTCH KEPMESENTATIVES IN THE 

HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

" Deai-ost of distillation I Inst and best! 

IIow iirt thou lost! "—Parody os Mii.tox. 

['"This Poem was written," says Buins, "Ix-foi'o tlio act aneiit tlie Scottish distilleries, 
of session 17.SH, for which Scotland and the author rolurn their most grateful thanks." 
Before the passing' of this lenient act, so sharp was the law in the North, that some distil- 
l.M-s relinquished their trade ; the price of Imi-ley was aHected, and Scotland, already exas- 
perated at the refusal of a militia, for which she was a peiitioncr, he;,'an to handle her 
claymore, and was perhaps only hindered from drawing it hy the act mentioned liy Iho 
poet. In an early copy of the poem, he thus alludes to Colonel ItugU Montgomery, uftor- 
vards Hai'l of Kglinton :— 

"Thee, sodgcr Hugli, my watchman stented, 
If liardies e'er are represented, 
I ken if that yere sword were wanted 
Ye'd lend yere liand ; 
Kut wh('n there's au^'lit to say anent it 
Ye're at a stand." 
The poet was not sure that Hlonltiomery would think the comi)liment to his ready band 
an e.xcuse in full for the allusion to his unready tongue, and omitted the stanza.] 

Yv) Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, 
Wha rtjpresent our brughs an' shires. 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In I'arliament, 
To you a simple 15ai-di(!'s prayers 

Are hum))ly sent. 

Alas ! my roupct Muse is hearse ! 

Your honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, 



140 T 11 K P E T I C A L W 11 K S F 

To .see lier .sittiu' on lier a — e 

Lt)\v i' tho dust, 

An' scriceliiu' out prosaic vorso, 

Au' like to brust ! 

Tell them wlia hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On aquavittc ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth. 

The honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
Tho muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch an' gloom ? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

"Wi" them wha grant 'em 
If honestly they canna come. 

Far better want 'cm. 

In gath'riu votes you were na slack; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidgc your back, 

An' hum an' haw; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetin' owre her thrissle, 
Her mutchkiti stoup as tooni's a whissle : 
An' danui'd excisemen in a bussle. 

Seizin' a stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lanijiit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard smuggler, right behiut her, 



11 B E R T I! U 11 N S. 141 

All' clicck-for-chow, a chuffie viiitiier, 

Collcaguino; join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 

Of a' kind cuin. 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor aukl niithcr's pot 

Tlius dung in staves, 
An' phmdcr'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 

^J'rode i' the mire out o' sight! 

But could 1 like Montgomcries fight, 

Or gab like Boswell, 
There's some sark-necks 1 wad draw tight, 

An' tie some hose well. 

Ood bless your honours, can yc see't. 
The kind, auld, canty carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly on your feet, 

An' gar them hear it ! 
An' tell them with a patriot heat. 

Ye winna bear it? 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws. 
To round the period an' pause. 
An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To male harangues : 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster, a true blue Scot I'se Avan-an' ; 
Thee, aith-detcsting, cliaste Kilkerrau j' 
An' that glib-gabbct Highland baron, 

The Laird o' Graham f 
An' aue, a chap that's damn'd auldfarren, 

Bundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie; 
True Campbells, Frederick au' Hay ; 

1 Sir Adiim Ferguson. 2 The Duke of Montrose. 



1 t- T 11 M 1' () K T I (' A L AV 11 K S V 

An' Liviiigstoiu', tlio baiiKl Sir Willie: 
Am' uionio itliors, 

"Whom iiulil Donuistlu'iios or Tully 

JMiti'ht own for brithors. 

Arouse, my boys! oxort your mottlo, 
To i;ot auUl Scotliuul back lior kettle : 
Or faitli ! I'll wad my lU'W j)leuti,h-i)ottle, 

Yi>'ll see't or lauii', 
Slu>'ll teach you, wV a reokiu' whittle, 

Aiiither saun'. 

'I'his while she's been in eraukous mood, 
Wcv lost militia iir'd her bluid ; 
(^l)eil na thev never mair do <;uiil, 

IMay'd her that pliskie !) 
.\n' now she'd like to rin red-wud 

About luM- whiskey. 

An' Tj — d, if a nee they ]iit her till't, 
ll(M' tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' dark an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An" rin her whittle to the hilt. 

1' th' first she uu'ets ! 

For CuhI sake, sirs, then speak her fair, 
An' straik her eanuie wi' the hair. 
An' to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive, wi' a' yo\n' wit and lear. 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-ton>;n'd tinkler, (^harlie I'ox, 
31ay taunt you wi' his jeers an' nmeks ; 
IJut iiio him het, my hearty eoeks ! 

Wen eowe the eadie ! 
An' send him to his dieinji' box. 

An' sportin' lady. 

T(dl yon eaiid bluid o' anld Koeonnoek's 
I'll be his debt twa mashluiu bonnoeks, 



no lii': KT r. u RNs. 143 

All' drink his lionltli in auld Naiise 'rimiock'a' 

Nine tiiiu's :i-\V('('k, 
If he sonic schonic, liko tea, an' wimuieks, 

Wad kindly seek. 

(^(udd he some eoniniiifatioii hniaeh, 
I'll pledi^e my aith in o-uia braid Scotch, 
lie need na fear their fiml reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon niixtie-niaxtie (|iieer ]iotcli-])otch, 

The (,'oalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung; 
An' if she jtroniise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she' should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your uiithcr's heart support ye, 
Then, though a minister grow dorty, 

An' kick yoiir place, 
Y(!'ll snap your lingers, pocu- an' hearty, 

JJef'ore his face. 

God bless your honours a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o'claise. 
In s])ite o' a' the thievish kaes 

That haunt St. James's, 
Your humble Poet signs an' prays 

While Kab his name is. 

I'dSTSl'ltH'T. 

Let half-starved slaves in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich clust'ring, rise; 
Tlieir lot atdd Scotland ne'er envies, 

liut blythe and frisky. 
She eyes her frecborn, martial boys, 

Tak all' tlieir whiskey. 



' .\ worthy nUl IiusUth of tho iiuthor's in MhucIiIIuo, wbero ho sometimes stuJiud poll 
tics over a glass of guiU auld Scotch Urluk. 



144 T HE r k t i c a l w o r k s of 

What tlio' their Pha^bus kiiuler warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms ! 
V/hen wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther; 
They dowiia bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a' hank'ring swither 

To Stan' or rin. 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' throther 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill. 
Say, such is royal George's will. 

An' there's the foe. 
He has uae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nac cauld faint-hearted doubtings tease him; 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him j 
Wi' bluidy ban' a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's. 
His latest draught o' breathin' Ica'es him 

In faint huzzas ! 

Sages their solemn een may steek. 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season ; 
But tell me whiskey's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected mither ! 
Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and whiskey gang thcgithcr I — 

Tak aflf your dram ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 14.5 

ADDRESS TO THE UNCO QUID, 

OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

"My son, these maxims make a rule, 
And lump them aye thegither; 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool, 

The Rigid Wise anither: 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' eaCf in ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 
For random fits o' daffin." 

Solomon. — Eccles. ch. vii. ver. 16. 
["Burns," says ITogg, in a note on this Poem, "has written more from his own heart 
and his own feelings than any other poet. External nature had few charms for him ; the 
sublime shades and hues of heaven and earth never excited his enthusiasm : but with the 
secret fountains of passion in the human soul he was well acquainted." Burns, indeed, 
was not what is called a descriptive poet: yet with what exquisite snatches of descriptioa 
are some of his poems adorned, and in what fragrant and romantic scenes he enshrines 
the heroes and heroines of many of his finest songs! Who, the high, exalted, virtuous 
dames were to whom the Poem refers, we are not told. Ilow much men stand indebted 
to want of opportunity to sin, and how much of their good name they owe to the ignorance 
of the world, were inquiries in which the poet found pleasure.] 

YE wlia are sae guid yoursel', 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neibor's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply' d wi' store o' water. 
The heaped happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core. 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door 

For glaikit Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes. 

Would here propone defences. 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compar'd. 

An' shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ? 

Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
13 



IIG T II !•; I'OIIT I (" A \. wo K K S O V 

Ami (wliat's iii't inair tliaii a' IIk- lavo) 
^;^ Ydiu- ln'ticr art, o' hidiiij;'. 



'I'liiuk, wlii'ii your casliu.atctl pulse 

(lies now and tlu'ii a walloj), 
AVlial i'ai;iii,<;s must his veins convulse, 

'riiat still eternal iinlloi): 
Wi" wind and tide lair i' yoiir tail, 

Iviulil. on you send your sea-way; 
r.ul in the teeth o' haith to sail, 

J I makes an nneo hu'-way. 

See soeial life and glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinkinii', 
"Pill, ((uite transmuoTily'd, they've i^rown 

Dehauehery and drinkinj;'; 
would (hey stay to calculate 

'I'll' etornal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded hell tt) state, 

D-uination of expenses ! 

Ye hi!;h, exalted, virtuous dames, 

Ty'd up in i;odly laees, 
Ik'foro yo ij;ie poor frailty nanu>s, 

Suppose !i chan<;'e o' eases; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snup;, 

A treaehenuis inclination — 
Hut, let me whisper, i' your luji", 

Ve're aihlins nae temptation. 

Then oently scan your brother man. 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Though th(>y may gang a kennin' wrang. 

To step aside is human : 
One ])oint n\ust- still be greatly dark. 

The moving why they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

Alow far perhaps they rue it. 

AVho made the heart, 'tis lie alone 
JK'cidedly can try us. 



r. on HUT r. URNS. 147 

lie kiKiws ciicli clionl — i(s various tone, 

Kacli .spriiiji,' — its various )»ias : 
Then :it tlie balaucn; let's )»! mute, 

We never can adjust it- 
What's (lon(! wc; partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.' 

" An honest niiin'M tlio noblcHt work ofOod." — Poi'i:. 
|Tiini S.'iuison wiin a wi-Ht cnuiilry sdoclsniiin nnd sport.iniiin, who loved ii Rood Koiig, ft 
soeial glass, and relislK^d a shot so well that ho oxpressod a wish to dio and ho buriod in 
the moors. On this hint l!urn8 wroto tho I'Jlony : whon Tani heard of this ho waited on 
tlie ]ioet, eansed hlni to i'ei;itu it, and expressed displeasure at liein;;; iiuinliered with Uie 
di'ad: tlie aulhor, whoso wit was as ready as his rhymes, aild(^d llii> Per Contra in a 
moment, mucli to tho delinlit of his friend. At his death Uk^ four lines of l''.piiaph were 
cut on his uravostonu. "This poem has always," says llogj^, "been a n'eat e(junlry 
llivourito: it abounds with happy expressions. 

'Jn vain the Iumiis <'am' down liko waters, 
Am acnt br.iid.' 
What a pieturo of ii flooded burnl any other poet would have given ns a long description : 
Uurns dashes it down at once in a stylo so grapliie no (jue can mlstaku it. 
' I'erhaps upon his inould(Miii)? breast 
Some spitofu' moorfowl bigs Iiur nost' 
IMateh Uiat sentennt wlio can."] 

Has auhl Kilniarnoelc seen the dell? 
Or great IM'K inlay" thrawn his heel? 
Or Itoliinsou'' again grown weel, 

To ])reaeh ;ui' read ? 
"Na, wiiur than a' !" cries ilka ehiel, 

Taiii Samson's dead ! 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt an' grane. 
An' sigh, an' sub, an' greet her latie. 
An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an wean, 

In mourning wchhI ^ 
To death, slie's dearly paid the kaiie, 

Tain Samson's dead ! 



1 AVlKin this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-fowl season, ho supposed It was 

to he. in Ossian's idu'aso, "tlio last of his fields." 
- ;\ preacher, a great favonrito with the million. I'lW/' th<! Ordinalinn, stanza TI, 
'■> .\nollier proa<dior, an ocjual favourit(! with the few, who was at that time ailing. For 

him 80(1 also tho Ordination, stan/.a I .\. 



148 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The brethren o' the mystic level 
May hiug their head in woefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel, 

Like ouy bead ; 
Death's gieu the lodge an unco devel, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When Winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the lochs the curlers flock, 

Wi' glcesome speed, 
AVha will they station at the cock ? 

Tani Samson's dead ! 

He was the king o' a' the core, 
To guard or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on death's hog-score, 

Tani Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, 
And trouts be-dropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels Aveel kenn'd for souplc tail, 

And geds for greed. 
Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail 

Tarn Samson dead. 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a' ; 
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw; 
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa' — 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn' d 
Saw him in shootin' graith adoru'd. 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tam Samson's dead I 



ROBERT BURNS. 149 

In vain auld age his body batters; 

In vain the gout his ancles fetters; 

In vain the burns cam' down like waters, 

An acre braid 1 
Now ev'ry auld wife, grectin', clatters, 

Tani Samson's dead ! 

Owre many a weary hag he limpit. 
An' ay the tither shot he thunipit. 
Till coward death behind him junipit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
lie reel'd his wonted bottle swagger. 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed; 
"■ L — d, five !" he cry'd, an' owre did stagger; 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brithcr; 
Ilk sportsman youth bcmoan'd a father; 
Yon old grey stauc, amang the heather, 

Marks out liis head, 
Whare Burns has wrote in rliyming blether, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

There low he lies, in lasting rest; 
Perhaps iipon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest. 

To hatch an' breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the heather wave. 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

0' pouther an' lead, 
'Till echo answer frao her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 
13* 



150 T II E V E T I C A L W R K S OF 

Hcav'u rest liis soul, wliare'ev he be ! 
Is til' wish o' mouy nuie than me ; 
lie had twa fauts, or may be three, 

Yet what reinead ? 
Ae social, houcst man want we : 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 



Ta^i Samson's weel-worn clay here lies. 
Ye canting zealots spare him ! 

It" honest Avortli in heaven rise, 
Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 

VF.n CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, an' canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neulcs o' Killie, 
Tell ev'ry social honest billie 

To cease his grievin'. 
For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie, 

Tam Samson's livin'. 



LAMKXT, OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUXATE ISSUE 
OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR. 

'•Alas! how oft does gooilnpss wound itself! 
And sweet affection prove the spring of woe." — Home. 

[The hero and heroine of this little mournful poem, were Robert Burns and .lean Armour. 
" This was a most melancholy affair," says the poet in his letter to Moore. •• which I can- 
not yet hear to rclicct on. ami had very nearly given me one or two of the princiiial unali- 
fieations for a place anions; those who have lost the chart and mistaken the ircUoniujc of 
rationality." llosrs and Motherwell, with an ignorance which is easier to laugh at than 
aeiMUnt for. s."iy this l*ot>m was "written ou the occisiou of Alexander Cunningham's dar- 
ling sweetheart slighting him and marrying another : — she acted a wise part." 'With what 
cure they had read the great poet wlioni they jointly edited it is needless to say : and how 
they could read the last two lines of the thint verse and commend the lady's wisdom for 
slighting her lover, seems a pivhlem which defies definition. This mistake was pointed 
out by a friend, and corrected in a second issue of the volume.] 

THOU pale orb. that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep I 

Thou seest a wretch who inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 



ROB !•: II T ]'. URNS. 151 

With woe I nightly vigils kcop, 

lieneath thy wan, unwarniing beam, 
And mourn, in lamentation deep. 

How life and love are all a dream. 

I joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly marked distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn, 

lleflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-fluttering lieart, be still : 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamontirigs claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains; 

No fabled tortures, (piaint and tame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft-attested Pow'rs above; 
The promis'd father's tender name; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

IIow have the raptur'd moments flown I 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 
And must I think it ! — is she gone, 

]My secret heart's exulting boast? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth. 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Iler way may lie thrt)' rough distress ! 
Then, who her pnngs and pnins will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less 'i 



152 THE POHTICAL WORKS OF 

Yc winded lumrs tliat o'er us past, 

Eiiraptur'd more, the more oiijoy'd, 
Your dear rcmombrancc in my breast, 

My Ibudly-treasur'd thoughts cmploy'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For lior too scajity once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, 

And not a Avisli to giUl the gloom ! 

The morn, tliat warns th' a])])roachiiig day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see (he hours in long array, 

'J'hat 1. must sufl'er, lingering, slow. 
lAdl many a pang, and many a throe, 

Iveen recollection's direful train, 
]\Iust wring my soul, ere Pha^bus, low, 

Shall Idss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightlv eotu-h T (ry, 

Sore-harass'd i»ut with eare and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watehings with the nightly thief: 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, 

lleigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

! thou bright ((ueen, who o'er th' expanse 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
]?eneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 

To mark the mutual kindling eye. 

Oh ! scenes in strong renuMiibranee set I 
Scenes never, never to return ! 

Scenes, if in stupor 1 forget, 
Again I feel, again I burn ! 



Ror, i:nT 15 URNS. 153 

From ('V'ry ji)y Jiiul j)l(';isur(> torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander tlim'; 
And hopeless, conirortless, I'll nidurn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY. 



[" I think," wild Hurns, " it ia one of the Kroiitest pTcmsiiros attPiKJinK ft jtooUr. ponlus, 
that wo cim give our wooh, cares, joys, iinil lovi's an I'liiliodicd form in vcrsi', wlilcli to nio 
is t'Vcsr iniiiu<diiit(! ijhsc." IIo olKowlioro says, " My passions ra^cd lilio so many dnvils till 
tlioy got vont in rliynu-." Tliat oniincnt )>aintcr, l''iiKt'li, on s<'()in^ liis wifi- In a iiasslon, 
said composedly, "Swear, my love, swear Iiearlily : you know not liow muili it will msa 
you I" This poem was jirinteil in the Kilmarnock edition, and gives a true ]iietnroof those 
biltcr moments experienced l)y tlju hard, wlu^n love and fortune alike deceived liini.J 

OrrRESs'j) witli t^rief, opprcss'd wilh care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I set mc down and si^h : 
O life ! thou art a gallin<r load, 
Alonji,' a rou<2,h, a weary i-oad, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim-backward as I east my view, 
What siek'iiin^' scenes appear 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro' 
Too justly I may fear ! 
iiiWl earint;', d(!spairinjz;, 

Must be my bitter doom; 
My wo(!S h(!i-(! shall cOose ne'er 
But with tlu! closint;' tomb ! 

Happy, ye sons of busy life. 
Who, c((ual to the bustling sti-ife. 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd. 
Yet while the busy moans are ply'd, 

'Jliey brinp; their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-al)anduu'd wight. 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night 

And joyless morn the same; 



154 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

You, bustling, and justling, 
Forget each grief and pain ; 

I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Reside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream ; 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to hcav'n on high, 
As wand'ring, meand'riug, 
He views the solemn sky. 

Thau I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
"Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah I those pleasures, loves, and joys, 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or hate. 
Whilst I here, must cry here 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh ! enviable, e^rly days, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze. 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 



HUBERT BURNS. 155 

Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport. 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all. 
Of dim declining age ! 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ, 

"Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure : 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short and simple annals of the poor."— Gray. 

[The house of William Burns was the stcene of this fine, devout, and tranquil dr.ama, 
and William himself was the saint, the father, and the liusband, who gives life and sen- 
timent to the whole. "Itobert had frequently remarked to me," says Gilbert Uurna, 
"that he thought there was something peculiarly venerable in the phrase, ' Let us wor- 
ship God !' used by a decent .sober head of a fiimily, introducing family worship." To 
this sentiment of the author the world is indebted for the "Cotter's Saturday Night." 
He owed some little, however, of the Inspiration to Fergussou's "Farmer's Ingle," a poem 
of great merit. The cilm tone and holy composure of the Cotter's Saturday Night have 
been mistaken by Hogg for want of nerve and life. " It is a dull, heavy, lifeless poem," 
he says, " and the only beauty it possesses, in my estimation, is, that it is a sort of family 
picture of the poet's family. The worst thing of all, it is not original, hut is a decided 
imitation of Fergusson's beautiful pastoral, 'The Farmer's Ingle:' I have a perfect con- 
tempt for all plagiarisms and imitations." Motherwell tries to qualify the censure of his 
brother editor, by quoting Lookhart's opinion — at once lofty and just, of this fine picture 
of domestic happiness and devotion.] 

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end : 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; 
The native feeling strong, the guileless ways; 

What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween ! 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 
The short'uing winter^day is near a close ; 



156 THE POETICAL W 11 K S OF 

The miry boasts retreating frac tlie plouah : 
The black' uiiig trains o' craws to their repose : 

The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 
This night his weekly moil is at an end, 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
Hoping the morn iu ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward beiK 

At longth his lonely cot appears in view. 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 
Th' expectant woe-things, toddlin, stacher thro' 

To moot thoir Dad, wi' llicbtorin noise an' glee. 
His woe bit inglo, blinkin' bonnily, 

II is clean hoarth-stane, his thriftie Wifie's smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile. 
An' makes him cuiite forget his labour and his toil. 

Belyvo, the older bairns oonio drapping in, 

At service out amang the farmers roun'. 
Some ca' the plough, some herd, some tentie riu 

A oannio errand to a noibor town; 
Thoir eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

.In youthfu' bloom, love sparklin' in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a bra' now gown. 

Or doposito her sair-won penny foe. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship bo. 

With joy unfoign'd, brothers and sisters moot, 

An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd, fleet ; 

Each tolls the imco's that he sees or hoars ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The Mother, wi' hor noodle an' her shears, 

Cars auld claes look amaist as wool's the new; — 

The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

I 

Thoir master's an' thoir mistress's commands, 

The younkors a' are warned to obey ; 
And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

Au' uo'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play : 



ROBERT BURNS. 157 

" And ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

And mind your duty, duly, morn and uiglit ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gana; astray, 

Iuii"ilore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright !" 

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily Mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek, 
"With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name. 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the Mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben; 

A strappan youth; he taks the Mother's eye; 
Blytlie Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en 

The Father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 

But blate, an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave; 
The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the 5'outh sae bashfu' and sae grave; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. 

happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

heart-felt raptures ! — bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round. 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
" If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare. 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 

In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale. 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale." 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 
xV wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 

That can, with studied, sl}^ ensnaring art, 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 
U 



158 THE POETICAL AV R K S OF 

Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild? 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, 

The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only hawkie does afford. 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood. 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuek, fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
HoTV 'twas a towmoud auld, s'in' lint was i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 
The Sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace. 

The big ha' -Bible, ance his father's pride ; 
His bonnet revVently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care; 
And * Let us worship God !' he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame. 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; 

The tiekl'd ear no heart-felt raptures raise; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's pi'aise. 

The priest-like Father reads the sacred page, 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 

Or, ]\Ioses bade eteimal warfare wage 
With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 



ROBERT BURNS. 159 

Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; 
Or rapt I^^aiah's wild, seraphic fire; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 
How his first followers and servants sped, 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he who lone in Patmos banished, 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom prouounc'd by Heaven's 
command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's eternal King, 

The Saint, the Father, and the Husband prays : 
Hope ' springs exulting on triumphant wing," 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear : 
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method and of art. 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! 
The Pow'r inceus'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul ; 
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 
The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 

1 Pope. 



160 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Their Parent-pair their secret homage pay, 
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 

That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 

Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, 
For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But, chiefly, iu their hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God;"^ 
And certes, in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied iu arts of Hell, in wickedness refin'd ! 

Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! 
And, ! may heaven their simple lives prevent 

' From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. 

Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream' d through Wallace's undaunted heart: 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride. 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
never, never, Scotia's realm desert; 

But still the patriot, and the patriot bard. 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 

1 Pope. 



ROBERT BURNS. 161 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

[This version was first printed in the second edition of the poefs worlss. It cannot be 
regarded as one of his happiest compositions: it is inferior, not indeed in ease, but in 
simplicity and antique vigour of language, to the common version used in the Kirk of 
Scotland. Burns had admitted " Death and Dr. Hornbook" into Creech's edition, and 
probably desired to balance it with something at which the devout could not cavil.] 

The man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad, 
But with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt 

Shall to the ground be cast. 
And, like the rootless stubble, tost 

Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that GoD the good adore 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

[The ninetieth Psalm is said to have been a favourite in the household of William 
Burns: the version used by the Kirk, though unequal, contains beautiful verses, and 
possesses the same strain of sentiment and moral reasoning as the poem of " Man was 
made to Mourn." These verses first appeared in the Edinburgh edition ; and they might 
have been spared: for in the hands of a poet ignorant of the original language of the 
Psalmist, how could they be so correct in sense and expression as in a sacred strain is not 
only desirable but necessary ?] 

Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 

Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 
14* 



162 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Before the niountaius heav'd their heads 
Beneath Thy forming hand, 

Before this ponderous globe itself 
Arose at Thy command ; 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, uubcginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast. 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought; 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought !" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r, 
In beauty's pride array'd ; 

But long ere night, cut down, it lies 
All wither'd and decay'd. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 17S6. 

[This WHS not tlio orisiiml title of this sweet poem : I have a copy in tlie handwritinn; 
of Iturns entitled '-The Gowan." Tliis more natural name he changed as he did his own, 
without reasonahle cause; and he changed it about the same time, for he ceased to call 
himself Bnrness and his poem '• The Gowan," in the first edition of his works. The field 
at llossgiel where he turned down the Daisy is said to be the same field where some five 
mouths before he turned up the Mouse; but this seems likely only to those who are little 
acquainted with tillage — who think that in time and pl.ice reside the chief charms of verse ; 
and who feel not the beauty of " The Daisy," till they seek and find the spot on which it 
grew. Sublime morality and the deepest emotions of the soul pass for little with those 
who remember only what genius loves to forget.] 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour; 



ROBERT BURN S. 163 

For I maun crush aiuaug the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy ueebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy wcct, 

Wi' spreckl'd breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
High shelt'riug woods and wa's maun shield; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

0' clod or staue, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field. 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet flow' ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity bctray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
'Till she, like thee, all soil'd is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rouji-h ocean luckless starr'd ! 



1G4: THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 

'Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n. 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driv'u 

To niis'ry's brink, 
'Till, wrench'd of every stay but Heav'n, 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
'Till crush' d beneath the furrow's weight. 

Shall be thy doom ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

[Andrew Aiken, to whom this poem of good counsel is addressed, was one of the sons 
of Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, to whom the Cotter's Saturday Night is inscribed. lie 
hecame a merchant in Liverpool, with what success we are not informed, and died at St. 
Petersburgh. The poet has been charged with a desire to teach hypocrisy rather than 
truth to his '• Andrew dear;" but surely to conceal one's own thoughts and discover those 
of others, can scarcely be called hypocritical: it is. in fact, a version of the celebrated pre- 
cept of prudence, "Tlioughts close and looks loose." Whether he profited by all the 
counsel showered upon him by the muse we know not: he was much respected— his name 
embalmed, like that of his father, in the poetry of his friend, is not likely soon to peri.'ih.] 

May, 1786. 
I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Though it should serve nae ither end 

Than just a kind memento; 
But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps, turn out a sermon. 

Ye' 11 try the world soon, my lad. 
And, Andrew dear, believe me, 



ROBERT BURNS. 165 

Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Ev'n when your end's attain'd ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where ev'ry nerve is strained. 

I'll no say men are villains a' ; 

The real, harden' d wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked ; 
But, och ! mankind are unco weak. 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha fa' in Fortune's strife, 

Their fate we should na censure. 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him; 
A man may tak a neebor's part. 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Ay free, aff han' your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel' 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen' d, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love. 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it : 
I waive the quantum o' the sin. 

The hazard of concealing; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within. 

And petrifies the feeling ! 



166 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

To catch daiue Fortune's golden suiile, 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
iVnd gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justified by honour; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant ; 
But for the glurious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip, 

To hand the wretch in order ; 
]?ut where ye feel your honour grip, 

Let that aye be your border : 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — • 

Debar a' side pretences; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear. 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range. 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity ofi'ended ! 

When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Keligion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting. 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempcst-driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Ileav'n 

Is sure a nuble anchor ! 

Adieu, dear, iimiable youtli ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
IMay prudence, fortitude, and truth 

Erect your brow undauntiug ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 167 

111 ploughman phrase, 'God seud you speed/ 

Still daily to grow wiser : 
And may you better reck the rede 

Thau ever did th' adviser I 



TO A LOUSE, 

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY's BONNET, AT CHURCH. 

[A Mauchline incident of a Mauehline lady is related in this poem, which to many of 
the softer friends of the bard was anything but welcome: it appeared in tlie Kilmarnock 
copy, of his Poems, and remonstrance and persuasion were alike tried in vain to keep it 
out of the Edinburgh edition. Instead of regarding it as a seasonable rebuke to pride 
and vanity, some of his learned commentators called it coarse and vulgar — those classic 
persons might have remembered that Julian, no vulgar person, but an emperor and a 
scholar, wore a populous beard, and was proud of it.] 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowHn ferlie ! 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I cauua say but ye struut rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
The' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner. 
How dare you set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ! 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle 
Wi' itlier kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now baud you there, ye' re out o' sight. 
Below the fatt'rells, snug an' tight j 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye' 11 no be right 

^Till ye've got on it. 
The vera topmost, tow'ring height 

0' Miss's bonnet. 



108 THE rOE TIC AL WORKS OF 

]My sooth ! right baukl ye set your nose out, 
As plump an' gray as onie grozet j 

for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gic you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fie ! 

How daur ye do't? 

0, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abroad ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin' ! 
Thac winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin' ! 

wad some Power the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others sec us ! 
It wad frae mony a blunder free us 

An' foolish notion ; 
"^^'hat airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us, 

An ev'n devotion ! 



EPISTLE TO J. RANKINE, 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 



[The povsnn to whom these verses are addressed lived at Adamhill in Ayrshire, and 
merited the praise of rough and ready-witted, which the poem bestows. The humorous 
dream alluded to, was related by way of rebuke to a west country carl, who was in the 
habit of cnllins all people of low degree " Brutes ! — damned brutes." "I dreamed that I 
was dead," said the rustic satirist to his superior, " and condemned for the company I 
kept. When 1 came to hell-door, where mony of your lordship's friends gang, I chappit. 
and 'Wha are ye. and where d'ye come frae?' Satan exclaimed. I just said, that my 
name wa.s Hankine, and T came frae your lordship's land. ' Awa wi' you,' cried Satan; 'ye 
cauna come here : hell's fou o" his lord.sliip's damned brutes already.' "j 

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Ixankiiie, 
The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin' ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 1G9 

There's monie godly folks are thinkin', 

Your dreams' an' tricks 

Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin' 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sa mouie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, dru'ken rants. 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts. 

An' fill them fou; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen through. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe, diuna tear it ! 

Spare' t for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives't aflf their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing 
0' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them naethiug 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen. 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair; 
Sae, when you hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang,''' ye'll sen't wi caunie care, 

And no neglect. 

Tho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
]My muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! 
I've play'd mysel' a bonuie spring. 

An' danc'd my fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair't the king, 

At Bunker's^Hill. 



1 A certain humorous dream of bis was thea making a noise in the couutry-siite. 
" A song he had promised the author. 
15 



170 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

'Twas ae iiiglit lately, iu my fun, 

I gaod a roving wi' the gun, 

An' bruuglit a paitriek to the grun', 

A bonnie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor wee thing was little hurt; 

I straikit it a wee for sport, 

Ne'er thiukiu' they wad fash me for't; 

But, deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale affair. 

Some auld us'd hands had tacu a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie; 
So gat the whissle o' my groat, 

An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
Au' by my pouthcr an' my hail. 
An' by my hen, and by her tail, 

I vow an' swear 
The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale. 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockiu-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry, 
L — d, I'se hac sportin' by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea ; 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 

For't, iu Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce thro' the feathers j 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 171 

It pits mc aye as niad's a hare ; 

So I can rhyme nor write nae uiair; 

But pennyworths again is fair, 

When times expedient : 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



ON A SCOTCH BARD, 

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

[Binns in this Poeui, as woll as in others, spoaks openly of liis tastes and passions : his 
own fortunes are dwelt on with painful minuteness, and bis errors are recorded with the 
accuracy, hut not tlie seriousness of tlie confessional. He seems to hare heen fond of 
taking himself to task. It was written when " Hungry ruin had him in the wind," and 
emigration to the West Indies was the only refuge which he could think of, or his friends 
suggest from the persecutions of fortune.] 

A' YE wha ]i\e by sowps o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think. 

Come, mourn wi' me ! 
Our billie's gien us a' a jink, 

An' owre the sea I 

Lament him a' ye rantin' core, 
Wha dearly like a randomsplore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 

In social key; 
For now he's taen auither shore, 

An' owre the sea ! 

The bonnic lasses wecl may wiss him, 
x\nd in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi' tearfu' e'e; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea ! 

Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou taen' off some drowsy bummle 



172 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, 
'Twad been nae plea, 

But he was gleg as onie wumble, 

That's owre the sea ! 

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; 
'Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee ; 
He was her laureate monie a year, 

That's owre the sea ! 

He saw Misfortune's cauld nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast; 
A jillet brak his heart at last, 

I'll may she be! 
So, took a birth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under fortune's cummock, 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach. 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't his hurdles in a hammock. 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'r was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding : 

He dealt it free ; 
The muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel. 
An' hap him in a cozie biel ; 
Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel. 

And fou o' glee; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera deil. 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie ! 
Your native soil was right ill-willie ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 178 

But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the sea ! 



THE FAREWELL. 

" The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer? 
Or what does he regard his single woes ? 
But when, alas? he multiplios himself, 
To dearer selves, to the lov"d tender fair. 
To those whose bliss, whose being hang upon him, 
To helpless children! then, then! he feels 
The point of misery fesfring in his heart. 
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward. 
Such, such am I ! undone." — Thomson. 

[In these serious stanzas, where the comic, as in the lines to the Scottish bard, are not 
permitted to mingle, Burns bids forewcll to .ill on whom his heart had any claim. He 
seems to have looked on the sea as only a place of peril, and on the West Indies as a 
charnel-house.] 

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak domains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh I a sister's tear ! 
My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my Bess ! tho' thou'rt bereft 

Of my parental care, 
A faithful brother I have left, 
My part in hiin thou' It share ! 
Adieu too, to you too. 

My Smith, my bosom frien' ; 
When kindly you mind me, 
then befriend my Jean ! 

What bursting anguish tears my heart ! 
From thee, my Jeany, must I part ! 

Thou weeping answ'rest — " No !" 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face, 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I for thy sake must go ! 

Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm adieu; 
15* 



174 THE rOETICAL AV 11 K S OF 

I, with a imieh-iiulol)le(l tear, 
Shall still reineinbcr you ! 
All-hail then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear .shore ! 
It rustles, and whistles 
I'll never see thee more ! 



WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF MY 

POExMS, PRESENTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, 

THEN i^LVURlED. 

[This is ;iiiolIu>i- of the jiiict's laiiU'iitatiMiis, at llip pi-ospoct of "torrid clinios" and the 
roars of tlio Atlantic. To Unrns, Scotland was tho laud of promise, the west of Scotland 
his paradi.-!e; .and tho laud of di-ead, Jamaica! I found those lines copied by the poet into 
a volume which ho presented to Dr. Cieddo.s : they were addressed, it is thouj^ht, to tho 
•■Dear E." of his earliest correspondence.] 

Once fondly lov'd and still remember'd dear ; 

Sweet early object of my j'outhful vows ! 
Accept this mark of friend.ship, warm, sincere, — 

Friendship ! 'tis all cold duty now allows. 

And when you read the simple artless rhymes, 
One fnendly sigh for him — he asks no more, — 

Who distant burns in flaming- torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar. 



A DEDICATION TO CAYIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

[The gentleman to whom these manly lines are addressed, was of good birth, and of 
nn open and s;enerons nature : he was one of the first of the gentry of the west to eu- 
courase tho nius<! of Coila to stretch her wings at full length. His free life, and free 
speech, exposed him to the censures of tluit stern divine, Daddie Auld. who charged him 
with tho sin of absenting himself from church for thi'ee successive days ; for having, with- 
out the fear of t1od"s servant before him, profanely said damn it, in his presence, and for 
having gallopped on Sunday. These charges were contemptuously dismissed by the pres- 
byterial court. Hamilton was the brother of the Charlotte to who.se charms, on the b.inks 
of Devon. lUirns, it is stiid. paid the homage of a lover, as well as of a vwet. The poem 
had a place iu the Kilmarnock edition, but nut as an express dedicatiou.J 

ExPKCT na. Sir, in this narration, 
A tleeehin', ilcth'rin dedication. 



R ]? E R T BURN S. 175 

To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're suruam'd like his Grace; 
Perhaps rehited to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 
Set up a face, how I stt)p short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou; 
For me ! sac laigh I needna bow. 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg; 
Sac I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin', 
It's just sic poet, an' sic patron. 

The Poet, some guid angel help hira, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him, 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
13ut only — he's no just begun yet- 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me,) 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'd be. 
He's just — nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant, 
lie downa see a poor man want; 
What's no his ain, he winna tak it; 
"What ance he says, he winna break it; 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't, 
'Till aft his guidness is abus'd ; 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does na fail his part in cither. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that : 



no THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

It's uactliiiig but a milder feature, 
Of our poor sinfu', corrupt nature : 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Maug black Gentoos aud pagau Turks, 
Or hunters wild ou Ponotaxi, 
Wha uever heard of orthodoxy. 

That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
It's no thro' terror of damnation ; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Mortality, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay aud trust is 
In moral merc}^, truth and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back j 
Steal thro' a winnock frae a wh-re, 
But point the rake that taks the door; 
Be to the poor like onie whunstane, 
And baud their noses to the grunstane, 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving; 
No matter — stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile pray'rs an' half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, and lang wry faces ; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

ye wha leave the springs o' Calvin, 
For gumlie dubs of your aiu delvin' I 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'll some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom. 
Just frets 'till Heav'n commission gies him : 



ROBERT BURNS. 177 

Wliilc o'er the liavp pale IMis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour. 

But I maturely thought it proper, 

When a' my works I did review, 

To dedicate them, Sir, to you : 

Because (ye need na tak it ill) 

I thought them something like yoursel'- 

Then patronize them wi' your favour. 

And your petitioner shall ever — 

I had amaist said, ever pray, 

But that's a word I need na say : 

For prayin' I hae little skill o't ; 

I'm baith dead sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 

But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r. 

That kens or hears about you. Sir — 

" May ne'er misfortune's growling bark, 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk ! 
May ne'er his geu'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous spirit smart ! 
May Kennedy's far-honour' d name 
Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen. 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonnio lasses round their table. 
And seven braw fellows, stout an' able 
To serve their king and country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual rays, 
Shine on the ev'ning o' his days; 
'Till his wee curlie John's-ier-oe, 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow." 



178 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 

With coniplimeutaiy effusion : 

But whilst youi* wishes and endeavours 

Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 

I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent. 

Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which pow'rs above prevent) 

That iron-hearted carl, Want, 

Attended in his grim advances 

By sad mistakes and black mischances, 

While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 

Make you as poor a dog as I am, 

Your humble servant then no more ; 

For who would humbly serve the poor ! 

But by a poor man's hope in Heav'n ! 

While recollection's pow'r is given, 

If, in the vale of humble life. 

The victim sad of fortune's strife, 

I, thro' the tender gushing tear. 

Should recognise my Master dear, 

If friendless, low, we meet together. 

Then Sir, your hand — my friend and brother. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RUISSEAUX. 

[Cromek found these verses among the loose papers of Burns, and printed them in the 
Reliques. They contain a portion of the character of the poet, record his habitual care- 
lessness in worldly affairs, and his desire to be distinguished.] 

Now Robin lies in his last lair, 

He'll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him ; 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care. 

E'er mair come near him. 

To tell the truth, they seldom fash't him. 
Except the moment that they crush't him; 



ROBERT BURNS. 179 

For suae as chance or fate had hush't 'em, 

Tho' e'er sae short, 
Thea wi' a rhyme or song he lash't 'em. 

And thought it sport. 

Tho' he was bred to kintra wark, 

And counted was baith wight and stark, 

Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak a man; 
But tell him he was learned and dark, 

Ye roos'd him than ! 



LETTER TO JAMES TENNANT, OF GLENCONNER. 

[The west country farmer to whom this letter was sent, was a social man. The poet 
depended on his judgment in the choice of a farm, when he resolved to quit the harp for 
the plough: but as Ellisland was his choice, his skill may be questioned.] 

AuLD comrade dear, and brither sinner. 
How's a' the folk about Glenconner? 
How do you thi.s blue eastlin wind, 
That's like to blaw a body blind ? 
For me, my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen'd. 
I've sent you here, by Johnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on; 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 
An' Rcid, to common sense appealing. 
Philosophers have fought and wrangled. 
An' meikle Greek and Latin mangled. 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd. 
An' in the depth of science mir'd, 
To common sense they now appeal, 
What wives and wabsters see and feel. 
But, hark ye, friend ! I charge you strictly 
Peruse them, an' return them quickly, 
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce 
I pray and ponder butt the house. 
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin'. 
Perusing Buuyan, Brown, an' Boston ; 



180 T 11 M V M T 1 C A L W 1! K S F 

Till by iin' by, if 1 baud uii, 
I'll gruiit a real gospel groan : 
Already 1 begin to try it, 
To cast luy e'eii up like a pyot, 
Wben by tbc gun ,sbe tumbles o'er, 
Flutt'riiig and gasping in ber gore: 
Sae sbortly yon sball sec nic bright, 
A burning and a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld gray hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
JMay lie who made him still support liim, 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him. 
His worthy 1'am'ly far and near, 
Ood bless them a' wi' grace and gear! 

IMv auld scliiHilfclldw, preacher Willie, 

The manly tar, my masou Billic, 

An' Auehenbay, 1 wish him joy; 

If he's a parent, lass or boy, 

Miiy he. be dad, and Meg the niither. 

Just five-aud-forty years thegither ! 

An' no forgetting wabstcr Charlie, 

I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 

An' Lord, remember singing Sannock, 

Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock, 

An' next my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 

Since she is litted to her fancy ; 

An' her kind stars ha airted till her 

A good chiel wi' a pickle siller. 

INIy kindest, best respects I sen' it, 

To cousin Kate, an' sister Janet; 

Tell them, frae mo, wi' duels bo cautious, 

For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashious; 

To grant a heart is fairl}^ civil, 

]iut to grant the maidenhead's the devil. 

An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel', 

JMay guardian angels take a spell, 

An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 



R() r. IC KT 15 U TINS. 181 

But first, before yoVi sec licaven'.s glory, 
IMay yo get inonio a merry story, 
Monie a laugb, and inonic a drink, 
And aye cneugli o' ncedfu' cliiilv. 

Now fare yc wecl, an' joy bo wi' you, 
For my sake tbis I beg it o' yon. 
Assist poor Rinison a' yc can, 
Yo'Il lin' bim just an' bonest man; 
Sac I conclude, and ((n;it my cliantcr, 
Your'.s, saint or sinner, 

lloil TlIK llANTKR. 



ON THE BIllTII OF A TOSTIIUMOUS CHILD. 

[From lotti^rs .idilrcssi'cl by Burns to Mrs. Dunlop, it would appear tliat tliia " Sweet 
Flow'rot, pl(!(lgo o' iiieiklo lovo," was tlio only sou of lior diiunl'tor, .Mrs. Ilmui, who IiiiJ 
niiirricU ii Kronch (^t'liUoiiiau. Tho mother soon lollowcd tho I'litln'r to the gnivo: sin- dlod 
iu tho south of l''ranco, whither sho had gone in search of honltli.J 

SwKKT flow'rct, pledge o' mciklc love, 

And ward o' mony a pray'r, 
Wbat beart o' stane wad tbou iia move, 

Sao bclplcss, sweet, and fair! 

November birpb^s o'er tbe lea, 

Cbill on tby lovely form ; 
And gaiie, alas! tbe sbclt'ring tree, 

Sbould sbicld tbce frac tbe storm. 

May He wbo gives tbe rain to pour, 

And wings tbe blast to blaw, 
Protect tbec frao tbe driving sbow'r, 

Tbe bitter fi-ost and siiaw ! 

JMay lie, tbe friend of woe and want, 

Wbo beals lifti's various stounds, 
Protect and guard tlie motber-plant, 

And be;d ber cruel wounds ! 

But late sbe floui'isb'd, rooted fast, 
Fair ou tlie summer-morn : 



182 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Now feebly beuds she in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Unscath'd by ruffian hand ! 

And from thee many a jiarent stem 
Arise to deck our land ! 



TO MISS CRUIKSIIANK, 

A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

■WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OP A BOOK, PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AnTHOR. 

[The beaiiteous rose-bud of this poem was one of the daughters of Mr. CruiUshank, a 
master iu the High School of Edinburgh, at whose table Burns was a frequent guest 
during the year of hope which he spent in the northern metropolis.] 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming in thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r. 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' poisonous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem. 
Richly deck thy native stem : 
'Till some evening, sober, calm. 
Dropping dews and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings. 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round. 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er c;ave birth. 



TtOBERT BURNS. 183 



WILLIE CHALMERS. 

[Lockhart first gave this poetic curiosity to the world : he copied it from a small manu- 
script volume of I'oems given by Burns to Lady Harriet Don, with an explanation in 
these words : '• W. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked 
me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, but was 
soarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows." Chalmers was a writer in .\yr. I 
have not heard that the lady was influenced by this volunteer effusion : ladies are seldom 
rhymed into the matrimonial snai-e.] 

Wl' braw new branks iu mickle pride, 

And eke a braw new brechan, 
My Pegasus I'm got astride, 

And ujD Parnassus pechin ; 
Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush 

The doitie beastie stammers ; 
Then up he gets and off he sets 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel kenn'd name 

May cost a pair o' blushes ; 
I am nae stranger to your fame. 

Nor his warm urged wishes. 
Your bonnie face sae mild and sweet 

His honest heart enamours. 
And faith ye'll no be lost a whit, 

Tho' waired on Willie Chalmers. 

Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye're fail; 

And Honour safely back her. 
And Modesty assume your air. 

And ne'er a ane mistak' her : 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might fire even holy Palmers; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na fortune may you shore 
Some mim-mou'd pouthered priestie, 

Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 
And band upon his breastie : 

But Oh ! what signifies to you 
His lexicons and grammars ; 



l^^-l THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

The feeling heart's the royal blue, 
And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Some gapin', glowrin' countra laird, 

May warstle for your favour ; 
May claw his lug, and straik his beard, 

And hoast up sonic palaver. 
My bonnie maid, before yo wed 

Sic clumsy-witted hammers, 
Seek Heaven for help, and barofit skelp 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the Bard ! my fond regard 

For ane that shares my bosom, 
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues, 

For de'il a hair I roose him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon. 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To you and W^illie Chalmers. 



LYING AT A REVEHENB FRIEND'S HOUSE ONE NIGHT, THE AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLLOWING 

VEKSES 

IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 

[Of the orijxin of these verses Gilbert Hums gives the following account. "The first 
time Kobert heard the spinnct played was at the hovise of Tr. Lawrio, then minister of 
Loudon, now in Glasgow. Dr. Ijawrie has several daughters; one of them played; the 
father and the mother led down the dance; the rest of the sisters, the brother, the poet, 
and the other guests mixed in it. It was a delightful family scene for our poet, then 
lately introduced to the world: his mind was roused to a poetic enthusiasm, and the 
stanzas wore left in the room where he slept."] 

THOU dread Power, Avho reign' st above ! 

I know thou wilt me hear, 
When for this scene of peace and love 

I make my prayer sincere. 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke. 

Long, long, be pleased to spare ; 
To bless his filial little flock. 

And show what ^ood men are. 



ROBERT BURNS. 185 

She who her lovely offspviug eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
0, bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope — their stay — their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush — 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish ! 

The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray. 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand — 

Guide Thou their steps alway. 

When soon or late they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driven. 
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost, 

A family in Heaven I 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ., MAUCIILINE. 

(recommending a boy.) 

[Verse seems to have been the natural language of Burns. The M.ister Tontio whose 
skill he records, lived in JIauchline, and dealt in cows; he was an artful and contriving 
person, great in bargaining and intimate with all the professional tricks by which old 
oows are made to look young, and six-pint hawkies pass for those of twelve.] 

3fos!t(/iel, Mai/ 3, 1786 
I HOLD it. Sir, my bounden duty. 
To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M'Gaun, 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day, 

An' wad ha'e done't aff han' : 
But lest he learn the callan tricks. 

As, faith, I muckle doubt him, 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's nicks, 

An' tellin' lies about them; 
16» 



186 T ii K V ]•: 'r K' a l wo u k s o f 

As lievo thou, I'd liavo then, 
Ydur c'lorkshi]) he should suir, 

If sae bo, yo. may bo 
Nut fitted otherwhevc. 

Altlio' 1 say't, he's t:lo^ oii()U<;h, 

All' bout a, house that's rude au' rou<;h 

The boy uiii;ht hniru to swear j 
]>ut thou wi' you, he'll be sac taught, 
Au' get sie lair exauijile straught, 

1 havoua ouly fear. 
\v'\\ eatoelii/.e hiui every (juirk, 
Au' sliiiro him wool wi' Hell; 
Au' gar hiui follow to the kirk — 
— Aye wheu ye gang yoursol'. 
If yc thou, uiauu be then 

Frae hauie this eomiu' Friday; 
Thou please, Sir, to loa'o, Sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 

^ly word of houour I have gicu, 

lu Faisley John's, that night at o'cu. 

To meet the Warld's worm ; 
'J'o try to got the twa to greo. 
An' name the airlos' an' the fee, 

In legal nuide au' form : 
I ken he Aveel a suiek eau draw, 
When simple bodies lot him; 
An' if ;i Uovil be at a', 

111 faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you, an' praise you. 

Ye ken vmir Jjaureat seorus : 
The pray'r still, you share still. 
Of grateful 3Iii\sthei, Bukns. 



1 The niilos— earm-st luonoy. 



HOB !•: 11 T B U II N s. 187 



TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGEN-GILLAN. 

[It Rcoms that Burns, dt'lislitod with the praise which the Laird of Cniisen-flillan 
bestowed on liis verses, — jiroliahly the Jolly Be^jrars, tlion in the hands of A\ oodburn, hia 
steward, — jioured out this little unpremeditated natural acknowledgment.) 

Sir, o'er a uill I gat your card, 

I trow it made mc proud ; 
"■ See wha tak's notice o' the bard I" 

I lap aud cry'd fV loud. 

"Now deil-ina-carc about their jaw, 

The senseless, gawky million : 
I'll cock my nose aboon them a' — 

I'm roos'd by Craigen-Gillan !" 

'Twas noble, Sir ; 'twas like yoursel', 

To grant your high protection : 
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well, 

Is ay a blest infection. 

Tho' by bis' banes who in a tub 

Matcli'd Macedonian Sandy ! 
On my ain legs thro' dirt and diib, 

I independent stand ay. — 

And when those legs to gude, warm ktiil, 

Wi' welcome canna bear nie ; 
A lee dyke-side, a sybow-tail, 

And barley-scone shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

0' many flow'ry simmers ! 
And bless your bonnie lasses baith 

I'm tauld they're loosome kimmers ! 

And Gob bless young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country. 

I Diogenes. 



188 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



ANSWER TO A POETICAL EPISTLE SENT TO THE 
AUTHOR BY A TAILOR. 

[The person who in the name of a Tailor toolv the liberty of admonishing Sums aliont 
his errors, is generally believed to have been AVilliam Simpson, the schoolmaster of Ochil- 
tree: the verses seem about the measure of his capacity, and were attributed at the time 
to his hand. The natural poet took advantage of the mask in which the made poet con- 
coaled himself, and rained such a merciless storm upon him, as would have extinguished 
half the Tailors in Ayrshire, and made the amazed dominie 
" Strangely fidge and fyke." 
It was first printed in 1801, by Stewart.] 

What ails ye now, ye lousic b — h, 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
Losh, man ! hae mercy wi' your natch, 

Your bodlviu's bauld, 
I diclua suffer ha'f sae much 

Frae Daddic Auhi. 

What the' at times when I grow crouse, 
I gie their wamcs a random pouse, 
Is that enough for you to souse 

Your servant sae ? 
Gae mind your scam, ye prick-the-louse, 

An' jag-the-flae. 

King David, o' poetic brief, 

Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief, 

As fill'd his after life wi' grief. 

An' bluidy rants, 
An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief 

0' laiig-syne saunts. 

And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants. 
My wicked rhymes, an' drunken rants, 
I'll gie auld cloven Clootie's haunts 

An unco' slip yet, 
An' snugly sit among the saunts 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fcgs, the Session says I maun 
Gae fa' upo' anither plan, 



EGBERT BURNS. 

Thau garrin lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels owre body, 

Aud sairly thole their mither's bau 
Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on, to tell for sport. 
How I did wi' the Session sort, — 
Auld Cliukum at the inner port 

Cried three times — '' Robin I 
Come hither, lad, an' answer for't, 

Ye're blamed for jobbin'." 

Wi' piuch I pat a Sunday's face on. 
An' snoov'd away before the Session; 
I made an open fair confession — 

I scoru'd to lie; 
An' syne Mess John, beyond expression, 

Fell foul o' me. 
***** 



189 



TO J. RANKINE. 



[With tho Lnird of Adamliill's personal character the reader is already acquainted: the 
l8,dy about whose frailties the rumour alluded to was about to rise, has uot been mimed, 
and it would neither be delicate nor polite to guess.] 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some snia' points, altho' not a' ; 

Some people tell me gin I fa' 

Ae way or ither, 
The breaking of ae point, though sma'. 
Breaks ae thegither. 

I hae been in for't ance or twice, 
And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest. 
But now a rumour's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



r,lO T 111: I'O {<] TIC A 1, W (» U K S () F 



LINES WUITTKN ON A BANK-NO TK. 

I'l'lm liimkiKilo on wlilcli tlicKn rlmrncliuiHlli! lliKvs wi'ni <-iii1i>ismiI. raiim into tlio li:inil;4 
of tlin liilo .ImiK'M Oniric, liiiiiluir in DiiiiilVlcs: lu> luii'w llii' luiiuhviilinn ol' lliiiiiK, luiil 
Uci>l II i\H 11 nii-io.sily. 'l'lii> coiuluaiuK liin's poliil li) I lio yoai' 17S0, ii« tlio Uutu ol' tlio cuui- 

l>u,HRioi>.| 

Waio worth (liy power, llioii cnrst'd leaf, 

VvW sounui ()' a,' my woo an' <;'rii!r; 

h\)V lack o' I lice I've lost, \uy lass, 

h\)v lack o' tlicc 1 sci'iiii|) my ^lass, 

I sec lli(( ciiildrcii of alUictioii 

lliiaidcd, llii'niii;li (liy cursed reslrietioii. 

I've seen I he oppressor's (iruel smile 

Amid his hapless viotiiu's spoil: 

And lor thy poleiice vainly wished, 

'I'o crush llu' villain in the dust. 
l''or lack o' IIkh', I lea\'e (his much-lo\'d slior(>, 
Never, perhaps, (o <.ireel, old Scotland more. 

J{. J}. 



A 1) R K A M. 

" 'I'lloHKllts, words, iiiul diu'ils, Ihn still iid' lilimns with iciisdm 
lliii HUi'oly ilrmuiis woro iio'oi' imliolml Innsoii," 

(111 lonilliij; ill tlir )nil)lIo [miU'i'M, tlio " I,iiiirc;ilc's Oilc" wllli tlio otluT piirtulo of .Tuna 
4, I'Sli, tlio luillior WHS no sooni-r di-ojit iislccp, IIimii Iu' iiii.'i>;iiu(l liiiiisi'lf tniiiKportud to 
till' liiilliil.i.v lovi'i'; iiiitl ill Ills (Iroiiniiiin tanrv iiimli' llic lolldwlnn " Adiiross." 

I'l'lii' piiiili'iit fiionils ol" tlio pool. roMioiisI I'll tod Willi liiin ,il>niil this I'ocin, wliidi tlii>y 
niipn.'iriMl lu think would liijiii-o his Ibi'tniii'S niid slop llu' royal lioiliily to which he wns 
thoii;;ht ciilillod. IMi's. Dmilop, mid Mrs. Stcwiirt, of Stiili-, solicited liim in vain to omit 
it ill llio KdinlinrKh edition of his poems. 1 know of no pooiii for which a claim of beint; 
prophetic would he so sncccssfnil.v .set iiji ; it is lull of poiiil as well as of tlic fuUiro. 'I'ho 
nllilslons rwiulro no coinnient.] 

(i |iil)-M(»ltNlN' to your JMajesty ! 

iMay lieavtMi au^nieiit your htisses, 
On ev'ry mnv hirth-day ye see, 

A hiimlile poet wishes ! 
]My hardship here, at your levee, 

On si(^ a dav as this is. 
Is sure an uiu'uiitli si^hl. to se(>, 

Amani;' thae hirth-day dr(\><ses 

Sao lino this d;iv. 



110 r. ERT 1} URNS. 101 

1 see ye'rc coiiipliuicutod tlirang, 

]Jy many a lord an' lady; 
" Ood save tlic king !" 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said ay; 
The poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady, 

On sic a day. 

For me, before a monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on your grace, 

Your kingship to bespatter; 
There's moiiie waur been o' the race, 

And aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day. 

'Tis very true, my sov' reign king, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But facts arc chiels that winna ding. 

An' downa be disputed : 
Your royal nest beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation. 
But faith ! I muckle doubt, my sire, 

Ye've trusted ministration 
To chaps wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fiU'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, 
Her broken shins to plaister; 



10- THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Your sail- taxation does her fleece, 
Till she has scarce a tester; 

For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 
Nae bargain wearing faster, 

Or, faith ! I fear, that, wi' the geese, 
I shortly boost to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's get, 

A name not envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges; 
But, G-d-sake! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges 

An' boats this day. 

Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax corruption's neck. 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In royal true affection. 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth-day. 

Hail, Majesty Most Excellent! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple poet gi'es ye ? 
Thae bonnie bairntime, Heav'u has lent, 

Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young potentate o' Wales, 
I tell your Highness fairly, 

Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 
I'm tauld ye're driving rarely; 



ROBERT BURNS. 193 

But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, 

By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known 

To mak a noble aiver; 
So, ye may doucely fill a throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There's him at Agincourt wha shone. 

Few better were or braver; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John, 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburg, 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug. 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the mitre 

Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her; 
A glorious galley,^ stem an' stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Then heave aboard your grapple airn, 

An', large upon her quarter. 

Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a-plenty : 



1 Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor's amour. 
17 



104 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

But sneer na British 15oys awa', 
For kings are unco scant ay; 

An' German gentles are but snia', 
They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautet; 
But ere the course o' life be thro', 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow't at it; 
But or tlie day was done, I trow, 

The higgeu they hae ehuitet 

Fu' clean that day. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

[This boautiful and alTooting poom was printed in tlie KilniarnocU odition : Wordsworth 
writi'S with his usual taste and feeling about it : '■ Whom di<l the poet intend should be 
thought of, as occupying that grave, over which, after modestly setting forth the moral 
discernment and warm alTections of the 'poor inhabitant' it is supposed to be inscribed 

that 

' Thoughtless follies laid him low. 
And stained his name!' 

Who but himself— himself anticipating the but too probable termination of his own 
course ? Here Ls a sincere and solemn avowal — a confession at once devout, poetical, and 
human — a history in the shape of a prophecy 1 What more was reciuired of the biographer 
than to have put his seal to the writing, testifying that the foreboding had been realized 
and that the record was authentic?"] 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But with a frater-feeling strong. 

Here heave a sigh. 



I 




9/ r ///-// 



^J9^^ 



' /^W ^//-/^ Iz-J/ r,:'?i/^ir>'i/-^^J^j4^^^l'yf^l'^/. 



ragol99 



'^^W 



ROBERT BURNS. 195 

Is tlicro a man, whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave; 
Here pause — and, through the starting tear. 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn and wise to know. 

And keenly felt the friendly glow. 

And softer flame, 
]5ut thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 



THE TWA DOGS. 



[Crornrk, an anxious and curious inquirer, infonnetl me, that tlie Twa Do^s vins in a 
half-tinislied state, wlien the pout consulted .Joliu Wilson, the printer, about the Kilmar- 
nock edition. On looi<ing over the manuscripts, the printer, witli a sagacity common to 
his profession, said, "The Address to the Deil" and "The Holy Fair" were grand things, 
but it would be as well to have a calmer and sedater strain, to put at the front of the 
volume. Burns was struck with the remark, and on his way home tfl Mossgiel, com- 
pleted the I'oem, and took it next <lay to Kilmarnock, much to the satisfaction of " Weo 
.Tohnnie." On the 17th of February Burns .says to John Richmond, of Mauchline, "I 
have completed my Poem of the Twa Uo^s, but have not shown it to the world." It is 
difficult to fix the dates with anything like accuracy, to compositions which .are not struck 
ofT at one \wnt of the fancy. " I.uath was one of the poet's dogs, which .some person had 
wantonly killed." says Gilbert Burns; "but Cipsar was merely the creature of the imagi- 
nation." The Ettrick Shepherd, a judge of collies, says that Luath is true to the life, 
and that many a hundred times ho has seen the dogs bark for very joy, when the cottag'j 
ihildren were merry.] 

'TwA.s in that place o' Scotland's isle 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil^ 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing through the afternoon, 



196 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Twa clogs that were na tlirang at hame, 
Forgather' d ance upon a time. 
The first I'll name, they ca'd hnu Caesar, 
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Show'd he was uaue o' Scotland's dogs; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter' d, braw brass collar 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; 
But though he was o' high degree, 
The fient a pride — nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin', 
Ev'n wi' a tiukler-gypsey's messin'. 
At kirk or market, mill or smidd'e, 
Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie. 
But he wad stau't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 

A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 

Wha for his friend an' comrade had him. 

And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him. 

After some dog in Highland sang,^ 

Was made lang sync — Lord knows how laug. 

He was a gash an' faithful tyke. 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face. 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his touzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl, 
Huug o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither. 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuif'd and snowkit, 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit ; 

1 CuchuUin's dog iu Ossiau's Fingal. 



17 « 



ROBERT BURNS. 197 

AVhyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Ui^on a kuowe they sat them down, 
And there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 



I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw. 
What way poor bodies lived ava. 

Our laird gets in his racked rents. 

His coals, his kain, and a' his stents; 

He rises when he likes himsel' ; 

His flunkies answer at the bell ; 

He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 

Pie draws a bonnie silken purse 

As lang's my tail, whare, through the steeks, 

The yellow letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en its nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling; 
An' though the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet even the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner. 
Better than ony tenant man 
His honour has in a' the Ian' ; 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't eneugh ; 

A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 

Wi' dirty staues biggin' a dyke, 

Baring a quarry, and sic like ; 

Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, 

A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 



1'*^ T II H POKTICAL WORKS OF 

An' ii(iui;]it but liis Ikui' diiri;', to l<Oop 
Tliom ii<;lit iiiul tiL!;lit in thack ;m' r;ipo. 

An' when tlicy meet wi' siiir (lis;is((>rs, 
]jikc loss o' lu'Jiltli, or want o' masters, 
Yc maist wad think a wee toueh lander 
An' they niann starve o' eauhl ami hunu;er5 
But, how it eomes, 1 never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wouderfu' contontod : 
An' buirdly ehiels, an' elever hizzics, 
Are l)red in sic a way as this is. 

C.KSAlt. 

l>ut then to see how ye're nei;leckit, 
How hulVM, and culV'd, and disrcspcckit ! 
]j — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditehers, an' sic cattle; 
They li'aiiii; as saucy by ])oor folk. 
As 1 wad by a stinkini;' brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' iiiony a time my heart's been wac, 
poor (iMiant bo(lics, scant ol" cash. 
How tiu'Y maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curso and swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', wi' asp(>ct humble, 
An' hoar it a', an' fear an' trend>le ! 

I see how i'oUc live that hae riches; 
]>ut surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 

They're no sac wretched's ane Avad think ; 
1'ho' constantly on ])oortith's briidc : 
'J'hey're sae aci-ustom'd wi' the sight. 
The view o't gies them little fright. 
Then chance an* fortune are sae guided, 
'J'hey'rc ay in less or mair provided; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 



KOBE R T 15 U R N S. 199 

The ilcarowt comfort o' their lives, 
Their grusliie weiiiis, an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling tilings are just tiieir pride, 
That sweetens a' tlieir tire-side ; 
An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy- 
Can niak' the bodies uneo liappy; 
Tliey lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and Htate affairs: 
They'll talk o' patromip;e and priests, 
\Vi' kindlinf^ fury in their breasts; 
Or tell what new taxation's eomin', 
And ferlic at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-fac'd Ilallowmass returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns. 
When rural life, o' ov'ry station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blitd^s, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty win's; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam; 
The luntin pipe, an snceshiii mill, 
Are handcid round wi' riglit guid will; 
The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse, 
The young anes rantin' thro' the house, — 
JVIy heart has been sac fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said. 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monic a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root and branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel' the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha aiblins, thrang a. parlianientin', 
Tor Britain's guid his saul indeutin' — 



200 'HUK rOETICAL W 11 K S OF 



Ilaith, lad, yc little ken about it ! 

For IJritaiu's guid ! guid faith, I doubt it ! 

Say rather, gauu as rremiers lead him, 

An' saying aye or no's they bid him ; 

At operas an' plays parading, 

IMortgaging, gambling, masquerading; 

Or may be, in a frolic daft, 

To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 

To mak a tour, an' tak' a whirl. 

To learn hon ton, an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 

lie rives his father's auld entails ; 

Or by Madrid he takes the rout. 

To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi' nowt ; 

Or down Italian vista startles, 

Wh-re-hunting aniang groves o' myrtles ; 

Then bouses drundy (German water. 

To mak' hinisel' look fair and fatter. 

An' clear the consequential sorrows, 

Love-gifts of carnival signoras. 

For Britain's guid ! — for her destruction 

AVi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 



Ilech, man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sac mony a braw estate ! 
Are wc sac foughteu an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O, would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please thenisels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better. 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin', ramblin' billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breakin' o' their timmer. 
Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin' o' a hare or moor-cock. 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 



R B E R T BURN S. 201 

But will yc tell ine, Master Cassar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nao cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o"t uccd na fear them. 



L — d, man, were ye but wliyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ue'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they ueedna starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat; 
They've iiac sair waik to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' grips an' graues : 
But human bodies are sic fools. 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow thcmsels to vex them; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh. 

His acres till'd, he's right eneugh; 

A country girl at her wheel. 

Her dizzcn's done, she's unco weel : 

But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 

Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst. 

They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy; 

Tho' doil haet ails them, yet uneasy; 

Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 

Their nights unquiet, lang, an' restless ; 

An' even their sports, their balls an' races. 

Their galloping thro' public places. 

There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 

The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches, 

Then sowther a' in deep debauches; 

Ae night they're mad wi' drink and wh-riug, 

Niest day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 

As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 



202 THE roETiCAL works of 

]jut hear tlicir absent tliouglits o' ither, 
They're a' run deils an' jads thegither. 
Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like onie uuhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night : 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kyc stood rowtin i' the loan ; 
"When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogs; 
An' each took aff" his several way, 
llesolv'd to meet some ither day. 



LINES ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER. 

[■' Till! first time I saw Robert Burns," snys Dugald Stewart, " was on the 23(1 of October, 
17SG, when he dineil at my house in Ayrshire, together with our common friend. John 
Miidvenzie, surgeon in Mauchline. to whom lam indebted for the pleasure of his acquaint- 
ance. My excellent and much-lamentod friend, the lute liasil. Lord Daer. happened to 
arrive at Oatrinc the .same day, and, by the kindness and franliuess of his manners, loft 
an impression on the mind of the poet which was never effaced. The verses which tlie 
poet wrote on the occasion are among the most imperfect of his pieces, but a few stanz.as 
may perhaps bo a matter of curiosity, both on account of the character to which they 
relate and the light which they throw on the situation and the feelings of the writer before 
his name was known to the public." Basil. Lord Daer, the uncle of the present Earl of 
Selkirk, was born in the year 17G3, at the family seat of St. Mary's Isle: he distinguished 
himself early at school, and at college excelled in literature and science: he had a greater 
regard for democracy than was then reckoned consistent with his birth and rank. He 
was, when Burns met him, in his twenty-third year; was very fjill. .something careless in 
his dress, and had the taste and tiilent common to his distinguished family. He died in 
his thirty-third year.] 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Kobin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A no'or-to-be-forgottcn day, 
Sae far I sprachlcd up the brae, 

I diiiner'd wi' a Lord. 



ROBERT BURNS. 203 

I've been at dninkcu writers' feasts, 
Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 

Wi' rev'reiice be it spokcu : 
I've even joiu'd the liuuour'd jorum, 
"When mighty s(|nireships of the (piorum 

Tlieir hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord — stand out, my shin ! 
A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's sou ! — 

Lip higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a Lord ! — lang Sc(jtch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a'. 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic pow'r ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glow'r, 

x\nd how he star'd and stammer' d, 
When goavan, as if led wi' branks. 
An' stumpan on his ploughman shanks. 

He in the parlour hammcr'd. 

I sidling shelter'd in a nook. 
An' at his lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen; 
Except good sense and social glee, 
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the gi'eat, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another; 
Nae honest worthy man need care 
To meet with noble youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



-0-1 T II E r E T I C A L ^Y R K S OF 



ADDRESS TO KDIXBrilGII. 

[•' I oncloso yon two pooms," s!\id U\inis to liis frii'iul Cliiihnors. '' which I have carded 
ftiul spun since 1 iiasscd Ulenluick. One Vilank in the Adilress to I'klinburijh. "Fair B — ,' 
is the honvenly Miss liurnot, daiijsliter to hord Moulioddo. at wliose house 1 have had the 
honour to Ih> more than once. There lias not heen anything nearly like her. in all tho 
combinations of lieauty. jirace, and jroodness the great Creator has formed, since Milton's 
Kve, on the tirst day of her existeniv." Lord Mouhoddo made himself ridiculous by hi8 
speculations on human nature, and acceplaVile by his kindly manners and suppers in tho 
manner of the ancients, wlu re his viands were spread under iuubresial li:ihts. and his 
Faleriiian was wrcalluHl with llowers. At these sujipers liurns scmelimes made his appear- 
ance. Tho " .\ddress" was first printed in the Kdinburj;h edition : the poet's hopes wero 
theu high, and his wmplimenfs. both to town and people, weiv elegant and happy.] 

El>lN.\I Scotia's darling soat ! 

All hail tliy palaces ami tow'r.-?, 
AVhoi'O oiu'C beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wiUlly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'riiig hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labour plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour ri.<e; 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod; 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes. 

Seeks Science iu her coy abode. 

Thy sons. Kdiiia I social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd. their liberal mind. 

Above the narrow, rural vale; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail. 

Or modest merit's silent claim; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Pear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 



IK) r. !•; K T I! II I!. N s. -05 

l'';iir ISiiriict. strikes lli' MiloriiiLr t'Vi", 
I IcMv'ii's biiiuitics on my raiicj sliim- • 

I SCO tlui Sirn of liovo on lii,i;li, 
And own his work indeed divine! 

Tliei-e, w.'ihdiini;' liiuii ihc lejisl, ;il;irnis, 

'I'liy roni;li, riid(^ lorlress Ldeiinis ;d";ir; 
]iik(! some bold vet' run, t;r;iy in ;irms, 

And m:irk'd with niiiny ;i seiimy ne.iU' : 
Tlie pond'rous wall and massy liar, 

(irim-risinj^ o'er tiu; ni^t;(Ml rock, 
Have oft withstood assailinii; war, 

And olY it'iieird ill' invader's shock. 

Witli awc-sl-nick tliou^lit, and ])ityinf^' tears, 

1 view that noMe, stattdy (h)mc, 
Where Scotia's kin;:;s ol" other years, 

I'^ani'd heroes! had their royal home: 
Ahis, how (dian;j;'d th(! times to come ! 

Their royal name h)W in the dust! 
Their ha)d(!ss rac(; wild-wand'rinfj; roam, 

Tho' rijj,id law cries out, 'twas just! 

Wild heats my heart to trace your steps, 

Whose an(;<!stors, in days of yoi'(>, 
Thro' hostile raid<s and rnln'd ;:a]is 

Old Scotia's hloody lion horo : 
Kv'm I who sinff in rustic lore, 

Tlaply my sin^s have left tlniir shed. 
And fac'd ^rim dan<>;er'H londcst roar, 

Hold-following where your i'alJiers led ! 

I'idina ! Scotia's darlinii; seat ! 

All hail thy |»alacc!S and tow'rs, 
Whcn-e on(H! l)en(^■lth a inoiiarch's feet 

Sat Le;j;islati(m's sov'reigti pow'rs I 
From marking' wildly-scattcr'd flow'rs, 

As on t:h»! hanks of Ayr T stray'd, 
And singing', lone, tln^ lini^'rini;' hours, 

I shell((r in thy li(»noiir'(l sha(h). 



18 



206 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 

[Major Logan, of Camlarg, lived, when this hasty Poem was written, with his mother 
and sister at Parkhouse, near Ayr. He was a good musician, a joyous companion, and 
somethina: of a wit. Tlie Epistle was printed, for the first time, in my edition of Burns, 
in 1834, and since then no other edition has wanted it.] 

Hail, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! 
Though fortune's road be rouah an' hiJly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 

We never heed, 
But tak' it like the unback'd filly, 

Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan whyles we saunter 
Yirr, fancy barks, awa' we canter 
Uphill, down brae, till some mischanter. 

Some black bog-hole, 
Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter 

We're forced to thole. 

Hale be your heart ! Hale be your fiddle ! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, 
To cheer you through the weary widdle 

0' this wild warl'. 
Until you on a crummock driddle 

A gray-hair'd carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, 
Heaven send your heart-strings ay in tune, 
And screw your temper pins aboou 

A fifth or mair, 
The melancholious, lazy croon 

0' caukrie care. 

May still your life from day to day 
Nae " lente largo" in the play, 
But " allegretto forte" gay 

Harmonious flow : 
A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey — 

Encore ! Bravo ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 207 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
An' never think o' right an' wrang 

By square an' rule, 
But as the clegs o' feeling stang 

Are wise or fool. 

My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase 
The harpy, hoodock, purse-proud race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fireside discords jar a base 

To a' their parts. 

But come, your hand, my careless brither, 
r th' ither warl', if there's anither, 
An' that there is I've little swither 

About the matter; 
We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted clearly, 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely, 
Eve's bonny squad, priests wyte them sheerly, 

For our grand fa' ; 
But still, but still, I like them dearly — 

God bless them a' ! 

Ochon ! for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they fa' foul o' earthly j inkers. 
The witching curs' d delicious blinkers 

Hae put me hyte. 
And gart me weet my waukrife winkers, 

Wi' girnau spite. 

But by yon moon I — an' that's high sweariu' — 
An' every star within my hearin' ! 
An' by her een wha was a dear ane ! 

I'll ne'er forget; 
I hope to gie the jads a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 



208 T HE r E T I C A L W R K S OF 

]My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it, 
Ancc to the Indies I were wonted, 

Some cantraip hour, 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted, 

Then, vive V amour! 

Faitcs mes haiscmains resjicclueitsc, 

To scntiniental sister Susie, 

An' honest Lucky; no to roose you. 

Ye may be proud, 
That sic a couple fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

Nac mair at present can I measure. 

An' trowth my rhymiu' ware's na treasure ; 

But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure, 

]5e't light, be't dark. 
Sir Bard wall do himself the pleasure 
To call at Park. 

lloBERT Burns. 
Mossgiel, 30<7t Octoher, 1786. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR, 



ISSCRnjKD TO J. nALL.\NTYNE, ESQ., AYR, 

[Runis took tlic hint of Ibis Vchmii from the Planostanos and Onusoway of For{;usson, 
hut all that loiuls it life ami feoliii!; beloni;s to liis own heavt and his native Ayr : he wrote 
it for the fH.>conil oilition of his I'oems, and in ooni|iliment to the patrons of his genius in 
the west. Ballantyne, to whom the I'oein is inscriboil. was generous when the distresses 
of liis farming specuhitions pressed upon him : others of his friends figure in the scene: 
Montgomery's courage, tlie learning of Dugald Stewart, and eondescoiision and kindness 
of Mrs. General Stewart, of Stair, are gratefully recorded.] 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 

Learning his tuneful trade from ev'rv bough; 

The fhanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 

nailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush; 

The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill. 

Or dcep-tou'd plovers, gray, w"ild-whistling o'er the billj 



ROBERT BURNS. 209 

Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 
By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And traiii'd to arms iu stern misfortune's field — 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose ? 
No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings. 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward ! 
Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret to bestow with grace; 
When Ballantync befriends his humble uame. 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 
With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



^Twas when the stacks get on their winter hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-won crap ; 
Potato-bin gs are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
IJnnumber'd buds, au' flow'rs' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive waxen piles. 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak. 
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek : 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side. 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feathcr'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tic, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nac mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings. 
Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee. 
Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree : 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
18 * 



210 THE POETICAL WOKKS OF 

]Mil(l, calm, sorono, wide spreads the nooii-t'ule blaze, 

While tlii<'k the gossamer waves wantmi in (lie rays. 

'Twas in that season, when a simple bard, 

Unknown and ]ioor, simplicity's reward, 

Ae niulit, within flu- ancient bru^h of Ayr, 

]^y whim inspired, or hajily prest wi' eare, 

lie loft his bed, and took his wayward route, 

And ddwii by Simpson's' wheel'd the left about: 

(Whether impell'd by all-direeting Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate; 

Or whether, rapt in nunlitation high, 

lie wander'd ont he knew not where nor why) 

Tlie drowsy Dnngeon-t-loek,'- had nund)er'd two. 

And Wallace Tow'r'" had sworn the faet was true: 

The tide-swol'n Firth, with sullen souiuling roar. 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore. 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed e'e : 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chillv frost, beneath the silver beam, 

Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream. — 

When, lo ! on either hand the list'ning liard, 
' The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the gos'' drives on the wheeling hare; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape xiprears, 
The ither ilutters o'er the rising piers: 
Our warlock Uhymer instantly desery'd 
The Sprites that owre the brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That ])ards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
An ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
And cv'ii the vera deils they brawly ken them,) 
Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 
The very wrinkles gothic in his face : 
lie seem'd as he wi' Tinu' had warstl'd lang, 
Yet, tcughl}- dourc, he bade an unco bang. 



1 A iiotiM tavorn i\t tho Auld Urig oiul. " Tlio two stooples. 

s The Uos-hawk or I'aloou. 



ROBERT BURNS. 211 

New Brii;- w;i,s buskit in ;i braw new co;it, 
Tliat he at Lon'oii, tVao aue Adams t;'()tj 
lu's hand live taper .staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls and wliirlyj;igums at tlie head. 
Tlie Goth was stallvin;j; round witli anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch; — 
It chaiic'd his new-come neebor took his o'e, 
And e'en a vcx'd and angry lieart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
lie, dowa the water, gies him this guid-c'cu : — 

Am, I) nmo. 

I doubt na', frien', ye'll think ye'rc nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit o'er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auhl as me, 
Tho' faith, that day I dou))t ye'll n(!ver see; 
'J'here'U be, il" that dat(! come, I'll wad a Ijoddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

Ni:\v nitici. 

Aidd Vandal, ye but show your little mcnse, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet — 
Your ruin'd formlcjss bulk o' stane an' lime, 
Compare wi' b(jnnie IJrigs o' modern time'/ 
There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Ducat-stream,' 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim. 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly, (Jothiu hulk as you. 

Am. I) liitia. 

Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wi' windy pride ! — 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a I>rig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about tho matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 

1 A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 





212 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

When lieavy, dark, continued a'-day rains, 

Wi' deepening deluges o'crflow the phiius ; 

AVhcu from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 

Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil. 

Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 

Or haunted Garpal' draws his feeble source, 

Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 

In mony a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes; 

AVhile crashing ice borne on the roaring speat. 

Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate; 

And from tJlenbuck,'- down to the l\atton-key,^ 

Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumbling sea — 

Then down ye'll hurl, dcil nor ye never rise ! 

And dash the gumlic jaups up to the pouring skies. 

A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost. 

That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

N'hw brig. 
Fine Architecture, trowtb, I needs must say't o't ! 
The L — d bo tliankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with throat'ning jut like precipices; 
O'er-archiug, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Sujiporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
AVindows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest, 
AVith order, symuietry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream. 
The craz'd creations of misguided Avhim ; 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee. 
And still the second dread command be free. 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited monkish race. 
Or fri>sty maids forsworn the dear embrace ; 
Or cuifs of later times wha held tbe notion 
That sullen iiloom was sterlin<r true devotion ; 



I Tlio liiuiks of Garpal W.nter is one of the few places in the West of Si'oth\ncl, whore 
those fancy-soaring beings, known by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinaciously 
to inhabit. 

9 The source of the river Ayr. s a small landing-place above the large key. 



ROBERT BURNS. 213 

Fancies that our guid Erugli deuies protection ! 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 



ye, my dcar-remenibor'd ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil ay; 
Ye dainty Deacons and ye douce Convecners, 
To whom our moderns are but causcy-clcaners : 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gie your hurdles to the smitcrs; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly writers ; 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo. 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groaq in deep vexation, 
To see each iiielancholy alteration ; 
And, agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degcn'rate race ! 
Nae langer rev'reud men, their country's glory. 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story! 
Nae langer thrifty citizens an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the council-house ; 
But staumrcl, corky-headod, graceless gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
JMen, three parts made by tail(»rs and by barbers, 
Wha waste your wecl-hain'd gear on d — d new Brigs and 
Harbours ! 

NEW BRIO. 

Now baud you there ! for faith ye've said enough. 
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through; 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little. 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But under favour o' your langer beard. 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weol be spar'd : 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 



-1-1 T HE r E T 1 C A L W 11 K S F 

In Ayr, \v:ig-wits nao inair o:m liavo a liaiuUo 

To iiiouth ' u citizen,' a terra o' scandal ; 

Nao mail" the Council waddles down the ptroot, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit; 

Men wha grew wise prlggin' owre hops an' raisins, 

Or gather'd lib'ral views in bonds and seisins, 

If haply Knowledge, on u random tramp, 

Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, 

And would to Common-sense for once betray'd thoni, 

l*lain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther dishmaclaver might been said. 
What bloody wars, if Sprites had blood to shed. 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glitt'ring stream they featly dano'd; 
]>right to the moon their various dresses glaue'd : 
'I'lii'v footed owre the wat'ry glass so neat, 
Thi> infant ico scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung. — 
had MVLauchlan.' thairm-inspiring Sago, 
l^Ci^n there to hear this heavenly band engage, 
When thro' his dear strathspeys they bore with highland 

rage ; 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his highland lug been nobler tir'd. 
And ev'u his matchless hand with tiner touch inspir'd ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
]>ut all the so\d of IMusic's self was heard. 
Harmonious concert rung in every part. 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Cenius of the stream in front appears, 
A venerable Chief advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
His manly leg Avith garter tangle bound. 

1 A well kuowu performer of Scottish musio ou the violin. 



ROBERT BURN S. 215 

Next came the loveliest pair in all the rina;, 

Sweet Female ]3eauty liaiul in hand with Spvini;'; 

Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy, 

4iH^ Summer, with his fervid-beam in^' eye : 

All-cheerino- Plenty, with her flowing liorn, 

Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn; 

Then Winter's timo-bleaeh'd locks did lu)ary show, 

]>y Hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next tbllow'd Courage, with his martial stride. 

From where the Feal wild woody coverts hide; 

Benevolence, with niilil, benignant air, 

A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair : 

Learning and Worth in equal measures trode 

From simple Catrinc, their long-lov'd abode: 

]iast, white-rob'd Feace, crown'd with a ha/.el wreath. 

To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 

The broken iron instrunumts of death ; 

At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 



ON THE DEATH OF KOIJEUT DUNDAS, ESQ., OF AllNISTON, 

I.ATH I.OUn I'imslDKNT OV TIIll COUUT OK SE.SSION. 

[At tlic ivqnost, of A<lv(Hvito Hay. Itiinis coiiiposod this Poom, in tlio liopo that it mi|;lit 
inti.r.'st the iiowci-fiil family (if nmulas in liis fortunua. I found it insorlotl in the liand- 
wiiUnn' of Ui« poot.in an iiitciloavoa oopyof lii.s I'ot-ius, whicli lio invscntod to Dr-OtKUlfS, 
Bceonipaiiioil by tlu> followiiif; surly noto:— '• Tlio foir^'oiiij; I'oeni lia.s- souu. toU'i-alilo linis 
iu it, but tlio incurabl.- wound of my pi-ido will not sulfor mo to oonvrt, or ovon pi'ru.so 
it. 1 sont a copy of it witli my bo.xt proso lottcr to tho son of tlio groat man, tlio tlicmo 
of tho pieoo, by tlio hand.-i of one of tho noblost nioii in (lod's world, Aloxandor Wood, 
snrgron : wlu-n, boliold! his solicitorsliip took no moro notioo of my I'oom. or of mo. than 
1 liad boon a stiolliiiR tiddlor who bad mado fioo with his lady's namo. for a silly now 
rool. Did tlu> follow ima-ino that 1 bmkod for any dirty Kratuity ?" This Uobort Diindas 
was tho eldor brolhor of that l,ord Mohillo to whoso hands, soon aflor tlio-so linos woro 
writton, all tho f^ovornmont patroiiai;o in Sootlaiid was oontidod, ami who, wIumi Ibo 
iianio of lUirns was montionod, piisliod tho wino (o I'itt, and said iiothii.t;-. 'Iho iioom was 
first priutod by mo, in lS;it.J 

LONK on the blcaky hills the straying flocks 
Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks • 
Down from the rivulets, red with dashing rains, 
The gathering floods burst o'er the distant plains; 
Beneath the blasts the leafless forests groan; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 



21G THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Ye hills, ye plains, yc forests, and ye caves, 

Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves ! 

Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye, 

Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly J , 

Where to the whistling blast and waters' roar 

Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 

heavy loss, thy country ill could bear ! 

A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 

Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 

Her doubtful balance ey'd, and sway'd her rod; 

Hearing the tidings of the fatal bloAV, 

She sunk, abandon' d to the wildest woe 

Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den. 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of men : 
See from this cavern grim Oppression rise, 
And throw on poverty his cruel eyes ; 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly, 
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry : 

]Mark ruflian Violence, distain'd with crimes, 

Rousing elate in these degenerate times ; 

View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 

As guileful Fraud points out the erring way : 

While subtile Litigation's pliant tongue 

The life-blood equal sucks of llight and Wrong : 

Hark, injur'd Want recounts th' unlisten'd tale. 

And nuK'h-wrong'd Mis'ry pours th' unpiticd Avail! 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown unsightly plains, 
To you I sing my grief-inspired stains : 
Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign, 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mine, 
To mourn the woes my country must endure, 
That wound de<reuerate ages cannot cure. 



ROBERT BURNS. 217 

ON RKADING IN A NEWSPAPER 

THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ., 

BROTHER TO A YOUNQ LABT, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF TIIE AUTHOR'S. 

f John M'lieod was of the ancient family of Kaza, and brother to that Isabella M'Leod, 
for whom Burns, in his correspondeuce, expressed great regard. The little Poem, when 
first printed, consisted of .si.\ verses: I found a seventh in the BI'Murdo Manuscripts, the 
fifth in this edition, along with an intimation in prose, that the M'Leod family had endured 
many unmerited misfortunes. 1 observe that Sir Harris Nicolas has rejected this new 
verse, because, he pays, it repeats the same sentiment as the one which precedes it. I 
think ililTcrently, and have retained it.] 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew 

The morning rose may blow ; 
But cold successive noontide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smil'd; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguil'd. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That nature finest strung : 
So Isabella's heart was form'd, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Were it in the poet's power. 

Strong as he shares the grief 
That pierces Isabella's heart. 

To give that heart relief ! 

Dread Omnipotence, alone, 

Can heal the wound He gave; 
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 

To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 

And fear no withering blast; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 
19 



218 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

TO MISS LOGAN, 

WITH beattie's poems for a new year's gift. 

Jan. 1, i;S7. 

[Burns wns fond of writing compliments in books, and giving thorn in presents among 
his fair friends. Miss Logan, of Park House, was sister to JIajor Logan, of Canilarg, and 
the •' sentimental sister Susie," of the Epistle to her brother. Both these names were 
early dropped out of the poet's correspondence.] 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annutil rouud have driv'n, 

Aud you, tho' scarce iu maiden prime, 
Are so much nearer Ileav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail : 
I send you more than India boasts 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex \fith guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps, too true; 
But may, dear maid, each lover prove 

An Edwin still to you ! 



THE AMERICAN WAR. 

A FRAGMENT. 



[Br. Blair said that the polities of Burns smelt of the smithy, which, interpreted, means, 
that they were unstatesman-Iike, and worthy of a country alohouse, and an audience of 
peasants. The Poem gives us a striking picture of the humorous and familiar way iu 
which the hinds aud husbandmen of Scotland handle national topics: the smithy is a 
favourite re.sort, during the winter evenings, of rustic politicians; and national affairs and 
parish scandal are alike discussed. Burns was in those days, and some time after, a vehe- 
ment Tory ; his admiration of " Chatham's Boy," called down ou him the dusty indigna- 
tion of the republican llitson.] 

When Guildford good our pilot stood. 

And did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ac night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskiu-pat. 

And in the sea did jaw, man; 
An' did nae less in full Congress, 

Thau quite refuse our law, man. 



ROBERT BURNS. 219 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn. 

And Carleton did ca', man ; 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man, 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage, 

Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man ; 
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid Christian blood to draw, man : 
But at New York, wi' knife an' fork. 

Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, 

Till Fraser brave did fa", man. 
Then lost his way, ae misty day. 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought, 

An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague, an' Guilford, too. 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Saekville dour, wha stood the stoure 

The German Chief to thraw, man ; 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man. 

Then Rockingham took up the game. 

Till death did on him ca', man • 
When Shelburue meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to gospel law, man ; 



220 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 
They did his measures thraw, man, 

For North an' Fox united stocks, 
An' bore him to the wa', man. 

Then clubs au' hearts were Charlie's cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man. 
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a sair /a»x' ^^cis, man ; 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads. 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an' blew, 

''Up, Willie, waur them a', man !" 

Behind the throne then Greenville's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class. 

Be-north the Koman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man;) 
Wi' kindling eyes cry'd "Willie, rise! 

W^ould I hae fear'd them a', man ?" 

But, word an' blow. North, Fox, and Co., 

Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man, 
Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man ; 
An' Caledou threw by the drone. 

An' did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid 

To make it guid in law, man. 

^ ;f: ;ic ;(: ;(: 



ROBERT BURNS. 221 

THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 

A NEW BALLAD. 

[The Hal and Bob of these satiric lines were Henry Erskine, and Robert Dundas : and 
their contention was, as the verses intimate, for the place of Dean of the Faculty of Advo- 
cates: Erskine was successful. It is supposed that in characterizing Dundas, the poet 
remembered "the incurable wound which his pride had got" in the affair of the elegiac 
verses on the death of the elder Dundas. The poem first appeared iu the Reliques of 
Burns.J 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did carry ; 
And dire the discord Langside saw, 
• For beauteous, hapless Mary : 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job— 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. — 

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore. 

Among the first was number'd ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth remember'd. — 
Yet simple Bob the victory got. 

And won his heart's desire ; 
Which shows that heaven can boil the pot, 

Though the devil p — s in the fire. — 

Squire Hal besides had in this case 

Pretensions rather brassy. 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy; 
So, their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see. 

To their gratis grace and goodness. — 

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision : 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet 

Till for eloquence you hail him, 

And swear he has the angel met 

That met the Ass of Balaam. 
19* 



222 Til E P K T 1 C A L W 11 K S F 

TO A LADY, 

UITII A rilKSKNT 01' A I'AUl OT 1)11 IN KINO-CJ I.ASSICS. 

[To Mrs. IM'Ijohoao, of Kdinbui'uli. t'li' pint |iri'scnli'il tho ilrinklntr-gliisses nlludod to in 
tliH vorHiw ; tln>y him, it mcomis, still picscivi'd, .•iiul tlio liuiv on occiisions of liijjh fi'stival 
iiuliil}{os, it is sniil, I'livoiirito visitcis with ii iliiuij;lit IVuiii llicm of '•Tho blouil of ijhiruz' 
soorclieil viiiu."] 

Kvill Kiiipross of tlio Toot's StillI, 

And Queen of Poetesses; 
CIai-iiKl;i, t;il<e tliis little boon, 

This liuiuble pair of glasses. , 

And till them hii;h with pMierous juieo, 

As generous as your mind ; 
And ])ledL:,e me in the genei'ons toast — 

" The whole of human kind !" 

"To those M'ho love us !" — seetmd 1111 ; 

But not to those whom we love; 
Lest wo love those who love not us! — 

A third — " to thoo and nie, love I" 



TO CLAllINDA. 

I Tliis is tlip Iftiiy of (lie (IvinUiiid-plassoa ; tho Mrs. Mno of m.iny n toast amoriK tho poot's 
ni-niiniiitancos. Sho wns, in thoso ilnys. yomis aiul hivuitiful, ami wo foar a littlo iliiiJy, 
since sho iniiulf^od in that sontiniontal and platonii' llirtatioii witli tho poot, oontninod in 
tlio woU-kiiown lottors to Olarindii. Tho loltors, aflor tho poot's doath. nppoarod in print 
williont hor pormission : sho obtained an injnnotioii ajiainst tho pwblioatlon, wliioh still 
riMnains in foroo, but lior .•inisoi- soonis to liavo boon loss ii uiattor of tasto than of whim, 
lor llio injnnotion has boon allowed to sluniliei- in the esiso of some o'litoi-s. thoii,i;li it has 
beeii enfoivod a{;ainst otliors.J 

Ct,aimnpa, mistress of my soul. 

The metisur'd time is run ! 
The wreteh beneath the dreary pole 

So marks his latest sun. 

To what dai'k eave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie; 
Pepriv'd of thee, his life and light, 

The sun of :ill his joy. 



ROBERT P. URNS. 223 

Wo pjirt — but, by tho.se precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other li->ht shall ,t>iii(le my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her se.x, 

lias blest my olorious day; 
And shall a p;liinmeriii<>; planet fix 

My worship to its ray ? 



VERSES 

WniTTEN UNDER TIIK I'OIiTRAIT 01' KRRGUSSON, THE POKT, IN A COPY OF THAT 
Al.'lilOll's WORKS I'llESENTISD TO A YOUNO r.ADY. 

[Who tho yniinR laily was to whom iho poet presented the portrait and I'ooms of the ill- 
fated Forgusson, we Iiavo not been told. The voraos are dated Kdinburt'Ii, March 19th 
17B7.J ' 

CURSK on u 11, grateful man, that can be pleas'd, 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure! 
O thou, my elder brother in misfortune, 
liy far my elder brother in the muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the bard unpiticd by tho world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures ? 



PKOLOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS ON IIIS BENEFIT 
NKJIIT, 

Monday, 10 Ai-iul, 1787. 

[Tho Woods for whom this IVologuo was written, was in those days a popular actor in 
EdniburKh. He had oU.er olain.s on Hums: ho had been the friend as well as comrade 
14lhT8d'''7"""''"' ""'' ^'"'"■'"""'■^ '"■"" ''"''"^■'" ^"''^^"'' ^'^ ^'^'J "' Kdiuburgh, December 

WiiE.^ by a generous Public's kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame • 
When here your favour is tho actor's lot, 
Nor even the 7uan in 2>>ivafe life forgot- 
What breast so dead to heavenly virtue's ulow 
But heaves impassiou'd with the grateful throe ? 



224 THE POETICAL AV R K S OF 

Poor is the task to please a barbarous thronp;, 

It needs no Slddons' powers in Sontberne's sung; 

But bere an ancient nation fam'd afar. 

For genius, learning bigb, as great in war — 

Hail, Caledonia, name for ever dear ! 

Before wbose sons I'm bonour'd to appear ! 

Wbere every science — every nobler art — 

That can inform the mind, or mend tbe heart, 

Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found 

Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 

Philosophy, no idle pedant dream, 

Here holds her search by heaven-taught lleason's beam j 

Here History paints, with elegance and force, 

The tide of Empire's fluctuating course; 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan, 

And Harley* rouses all the God in man. 

When well-form'd taste and sparkling wit unite, 

AVith manly lore, or female beauty bright, 

(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 

Can only charm as in the second place,) 

Witness my heart, how oft with panting fear. 

As on this night, I've met these judges here ! 

But still the hope Experience taught to live, 

Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. 

Nor hundred-headed Riot here we meet, 

With decency and law beneath his feet : 

Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name; 

Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 

Thou dread Power ! whose Empire-giving hand 

Has oft been stretch'd to shield the bonour'd laud ! 

Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire : 

May every son be worthy of his sire ; 

Firm may she rise with generous disdaiu 

At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's chain ; 

Still self-dependent in her native shore. 

Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar. 

Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more. 

1 The M.in of Feeling, by Mackenzie. 



ROBERT BURNS. 225 



SKETCH. 

[This Sketch is a portion of a long ToL-ra which Burns proposed to call " The Poet's Pro- 
gress." lie communicated the little he had done, for he was a courter of opinions, to 
Dugald Stewart. '-The Fragment forms,"' said he, "the postulata, the axioms, the defi- 
nition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall he phiced in a Tariety of lights. This 
particular part I send you, merely as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching." It is 
probahle that the professor's response was not favourable, for we hear no more of the 
Poem.] 

A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, 
And still liis precious self his dear delight ; 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets : 
A man of fashion, too, he made his tour, 
Learn' d vive la bagatelle, et vive Famour : 
So travell'd monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood ; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : 
His solid sense — by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 



TO MRS. SCOTT, OF WAUCIIOPE. 

[The lady to whom this epistle is addressed was a painter and a poetess : her pencil 
sketches are said to have been beautiful; and she had a ready skill in rhyme, a.s the 
verses addressed to Burns fully testify. Taste and poetry belonged to her family: .she 
was the niece of Mrs. Cockburn, authoress of a beautiful variation of The Flowers of the 

Forest.] 

I MIND it weel in early date, 

When I was beardless, young and blate, 

An' first could thresh the barn. 
Or baud a yokin at the pleugh ; 
An' tho' forfoughten sair eneugh, 

Yet unco proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon' d was, 
An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn 

Could rank my rig and lass, 



226 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Still shearing, aiul clearing, 
The tithor stooked raw, 

Wi' claivcrs, an' haivers, 
Wearing the day awa. 

E'en then, a wish, I mind its pow'r, 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast. 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 
Some uscfu' plan or bcuk could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd the wcedcr-clips aside. 
An' spar'd the symbol dear : 
No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
'Till on that har'st I said before, 
My partner in the merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 

That lighted up my jingle. 
Her witching smile, her pauky een 
That gart my heart-strings tingle : 
I fired, inspired. 

At every kindling keek, 
But bashing and dasliing 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex, ilk guid chiel says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter days, 

An' we to share in commou : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe. 
The saul o' life, the heaven below, 

Is rapture-giving womau. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Ye surly sumplis, who hate the name, 

Be miudfu' o' your nnther : 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
That ye're connected with her. 
Ye're wae men, ye're nae men 
That slight the lovely dears ; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkic swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare, 
By me should gratefully be ware ; 

'Twad please me to the nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie o' my hap. 

Douce hingin' owre ray curple, 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Fareweel then, lang heel then, 

An' plenty be your fa' ; 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallau ca'. 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CREECH. 

[A storm of rain detained Burns one day, durins; his border tour, .it Selkirk, and he 
employed his time in writing this characteristic epistle to Creech, his bookseller. Creech 
was a person of education and taste: he was not only the most popular publisher in the 
north, but he was intimate with almost all the distinguished men who, in those days, 
adorned Scottish literature. But thoucih a joyous man, a lover of .sociality, and the keeper 
of a good table, he w.a.s close and parsimonious, and loved to hold money to the last mo- 
ment that the law allowed.] 

Selkirk, 13 3Ia7/, 1787. 

AiiLD chuckle Reekie's^ sair distrest, 

Down droops her ance weel-burnisht crest. 

Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa ! 

1 Kdinburgh. 



228 THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

Willie was a witty wiglit, 

And had o' things an unco slight ; 
Auld Reekie aye he kecpit tight, 

An' trig and braw : 
But now they'll busk her like a fright, 

Willie's awa ! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd; 
The baiddest o' them a' he cow'd; 
They durst nae mair than he allow' d, 

That was a law ; 
We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, 

Willie's awa ! 

Now gawkics, tawpies, gowks, and fools, 
Frac colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock stools 

In glen or shaw ; 
He wha could brush them down to mools, 

Willie's awa ! 

The brethren o' the Comraerce-Chaumcr' 
IMay mourn their loss wi' doofu' clamour ; 
He was a dictioner and grammar 

Amang them a' ; 

1 fear they'll now mak mony a stammer, 

Willie's awa ! 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and poets pour,^ 
And toothy critics by the score 

In bloody raw ! 
The adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa ! 

Now worthy Grcgorj''s Latin face, 
Tytler's and Gi'eenfield's modest grace ; 
Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw ; 

1 The Chamber of Commerce in Edinburgh, of which Creech was Secretary. 

2 Many literary geutlemeu were accustomeil to meet at Mr. Creech's house at breakfast. 



ROBERT BURNS. 229 

Tliey a' maun meet some itlaer place, 
Willie's awa ! 

Poor Burns — e'eu Scotcli drink eanna quicken, 
He cheeps like some bewilder' d chicken, 
Scar'd frae its minnie and the clcckiu 

By hoodie-craw; 
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin'. 

Willie's awa ! 

Now ev'ry sour-mou'd girnin' blcllum, 
And Calvin's fock are Ht to fell him; 
And self-conceited ci'itic skellum 

His quill may draw; 
He wha could brawlie ward their helium, 

Willie's awa ! 

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped. 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red, 

While tempests blaw; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled, 

Willie's awa ! 

May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw ; 
When I forget thee ! Willie Creech, 

Tho' far awa ! 

May never wicked fortune touzle him ! 
May never wicked man bamboozle him ! 
Until a pow as auld's Methusalem 

He cauty claw ! 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Fleet win"' awa ! 



20 



230 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER TO THE 
NOBLE DUKE OF ATJIOLE. 

[The Falls of Bruar in Atliole aro exccedinsly beautiful and picturesriue ; and thoir 
effuct, when Burns visitod them, was much inijiaired by want of shrubs and trees. This 
was in 1787 : the poet, apoonipaiiicd by his future biographer, Professor AValker, went, 
when close on twilight, to this romantic scene: '• he threw himself," said the Professor, 
"on a heathy seat, and gave himself up to a tender, abstracted, and voluptuous enthu- 
siasm of imagin.ation. In a few days I received a letter from Inverness, for the poet had 
gone on his way, with the Petition enclosed." His Grace of Athole obeyed the injunc- 
tion: the picturesque points are now crowned with thriving woods, and the beauty of 
the Falls is much increased.] 

My Lord, I know your uoblo car 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Enibolden'tl thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams 

In flamino- summer-pride, 
Dry-withering-, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly -jumpin' glowrin' trouts. 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin straj'j 
If, hapless chance ! they linger laug, 

I'm scorching up so shallow. 
They're left the whitening stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 

Even as I was he shor'd me; 
])ut had I in my glory been, 

Ho, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the .'^helvj' rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-ruarin<'' o'er a linn : 



ROBERT BURNS. 2G1 

Enjoying large each spring and well, 

As Nature gave tlieni nic, 
I am, altbo' I say't myscl', 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, 

And bonnie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks, 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

lleturn you tuneful thauks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild. 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The nuivis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

la all her locks of yellow. 

This, too, a covert shall insure 

To shield them from the storm • 
And coward maukin sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat 

From prone-descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet, endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty idle care. 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 



'.r J 1 E 1' ]•: T 1 C A L W R K S OF 

Iloro haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Sonic musing bard may stray. 
And eyo tlic sniokinj;-, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain gray ; 
Or, by tlio reaper's nightly beam, 

jMild-t'hequering thro' the trees, 
Have to my darkly-dashing stream, 

Iloarsc-iswolling on the breeze. 

]jet lofty iirs, and ashes cool, 

31y lowly banks o'ersproad, 
And view, deep-bending in the ])0ol. 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My eraggy elitVs adorn; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close endiow'ring thorn. 

So may old Seotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land ! 
So may thro" Albion's farthest ken, 

To sorial-flowing glasses, 
The graee be — '' Athole's lu>nest men, 

And Athole's bonnie lasses'/" 



THE HERMIT. 

W'UITTHN 0\ A MAItni.K SIllKllOAHn, IN TIIK HKinilTAOR HEI.ONGING TO Till', m'KE 
01" ATllOl.K, IN TUB WOOn OF AllKHKKLP V. 

Wiioe'eii thou art, these lines now reading, 
Thiid; not, though from the world receding, 
I joy my lonely days to leail in 

This desert drear ; 
That fell remorse a conscience bleeding 

lluth led me hero. 




^yj^/y/:' 






EGBERT BURNS. 233 

No thought of guilt my bosom sours ; 
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bowers; 
For well I saw iu halls and towers 

That lust and pride, 
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers, 

In state preside. 

I saw mankind with vice encrusted ; 
I saw that honour's sword was rusted ; 
That few for aught but folly lusted ; 
That he was still dcceiv'd who trusted 

To love or friend ; 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, iu garments lowly, 

Alike a foe to noisy folly, 

And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear away 
]My life, and iu my office holy 

Consume the day. 

This rock my shield ; when storms are blowing, 
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing 
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food ; 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 

This grot, than e'er I felt before in 

A palace — and with thoughts still soaring 

To God on high, 
Each night and morn with voice imploring. 

This wish I sigh. 

" Let me, oh Lord ! from life retire. 
Unknown each guilty worldly fire. 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire ; 

And when I die. 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly." 
20* 



23-4 THE r E T I c a l w o r k s of 

Strantior, if full of youth ami riot, 
And yet no gviof has inarr'd thy quiot, 
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye ut 

The hermit's prayer — 
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care ; 

If thou hast kiunvn false love's vexation, 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or guilt atlVights thy contemplation, 

And makes thee pine, 
Oh ! how must thou lament thy station, 

And envy mine ! 



ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCII-TURIT. 

[Wlion Hums wrote those touoliing linos, ho was staying with Sir Willi.im Murray, of 
Oohtortyro. liuriiis one of his Highland tours. Loch-Turit is a wiM lake amoug the 
recesses of the hills, nud was welcome from its loueliuess to the heart of the poet.] 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For lue your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you tly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties? — 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave. 
Busy feed, or wanton lave: 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race. 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
]Man, your proud usurping foe. 
Would be lord of all below : 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride. 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow. 
Marking you his prey below, 



11 15 !•: 11 T 1? u u \ s. 

In his broast no pity dwolls, 
Htroiij;' lUH'Ossity I'ompi'Is : 
]}ut man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray diroct from pityini>; hoav'n, 
Clk)rios in his heart luimane — 
And croatnvos for his pleasure shiin. 

In these savaae, hijuid plains, 
Only known to wand'ring swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from luiman liannts and ways; 
All on Nature you depend. 
And life's poor season peaeeful spend. 

Or, if man's superior mi^ht, 
Dare invade your native rii;ht, 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you seorn; 
Swiftly seek, on elangiuti' winiz;s, 
Other lakes and other springs; 
And the foe you eannot brave. 
Scorn ut least to be his slave. 



Y E 11 S 1<] S 

WIUTTEN WITH .V rKNCU,. OVKR TUB 0U1MN15 Y-l'IEOl?, IN TIIK iWIM.OUU OF THE 
INN AT KENMOKE, TAYMOUTII. 

|Tho castlo of Taymouth is tho rcsitleiico of tlio Karl of Hromtnlbano : it is .i mnjinificoiit 
strueturc, coutnins many tinu painliugs: has some sploiidid old ti-ees tiud romantic 
soi'iiery.] 

AitMiRiNti Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace; 
O'er many a winding" dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 
3Iv savage journey, curious I pursue, 
'Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 
The meeting elifls each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild scattered, clothe their ample sides ; 



236 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'niong the hills, 
The eye with wouder and amazeiueut fills ; 
The Tay, meand'ring sweet in infant pride, 
The palace, rising on its verdant side; 
The lawns, wood-tVing'd in Nature's native taste; 
The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches, striding o'er the new-born stream; 
The village, glittering in the noontide beam — 

:): :!« * :|< * 

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 

>(; :is * * * 

Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught Ij-re, 
And look through Nature with creative fire; 
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild; 
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter — rankling wounds : 
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch her scan, 
And injur'd "Worth forget and pardon man. 
***** 



VERSES 

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS, NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

[This is one of tlio many fine scenes, in the Celtic Parnassus of Ossian : but when Burns 
saw it, tlie Uighland passion of the stream was abated, for there had been no rain for some 
time to swell and send it pouring down its precipices in a way worthy of the scene. The 
descent of the water is about two hundred feet. There is another fall further up the 
stream, very wild and savage, on which the Fyers makes three prodigious leaps iuto a deep 
gulf where nothing can be seen for the whirling foam and agitated mist.] 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 

Till full lie dashes on the rocky mounds. 

Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 

As deep-recoiling surges foam below, 



ROBERT BURNS. ^o i 

Pi'oue down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, I'ends. 

Dim seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs. 

The hoary cavern, wide surrounding, lowr's. 

Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, 

And still below, the horrid cauldron boils — 



POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. W. TYTLER, 

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S TICTURE. 

[When these vprses were written there was much stately Jacobitism about Edinburgh 
anil it is like!}' that Tytler, who laboured to disjiel the eloiid of calumny which hung over 
the memory of Queen Mai-y, had a bearing that way. Taste and talent have now descended 
in the Tytlers through three generations: an uncommon event in families. The present 
edition of the Poem has been completed from the original in the poet's handwriting.] 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
A name, whicli to love was once mark of a true heart. 

But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigli. 

Still more if that wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne, 

My fathers have fallen to rigbt it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate sou. 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join. 

The Queen and the rest of the gentry. 
Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 

Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of that epoeha make such a fuss, 

That gave us th' Electoral stem ? 
If bringing tbem over was lucky for us, 

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 



238 T 11 E V E T 1 C A L AV R K S F 

But loyalty truce! we've on clangorous ground, 
Wlio knows how the fashions may alter ? 

The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trilie, the head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care; 
But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard, 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye. 
And ushers the long dreary night; 

But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky 
Your cc)urse to the latest is bright. 
-1; * * * 



VERSES 
wiutten in friars-carsk heitmitagk, on tiik hanks of nitii, june, 1788. 

[first copy.] 

[The interleaved vohimo pvcsenied by ]>ui'iis to T>r. Geddos, li.is enaWivl mo to present 
the reader with the rou^h dniiisht of this truly beautiful I'oeui, tho tirst fruits perhaps 
of his iutLTCour.se with tlu« uuises of Nithside.] 

TllOU whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
]ie thou dcck'd in silken stole, 
Grave these maxims on thy soul. 
Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Day, how rapid in its flight — 
Pay, how few must see the night ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 
Happiness is but a uanie, 
Make content and ease thy aim. 
Ambition is a meteor gleam ; 
Fame, a restless idle dream : 



ROBERT BURNS. 239 

Pleasures, insects on the wing 

Round Peace, the tenderest flower of Spring ; 

Those that sip the dew alone. 

Make the butterflies thy own ; 

Those that would the bloom devour, 

Crush the locusts — save the flower. 

For the future be prepar'd. 

Guard wherever thou canst guard ; 

But, thy utmost duly done, 

AVelcome what thou canst not shun. 

Follies past, give thou to air, 

Make their consequence thy care : 

Keep the name of man in mind, 

And dishonour not thy kind. 

Reverence with lowly heart 

Him whose wondrous work thou art ; 

Keep His goodness still in view. 

Thy trust — and thy example, too. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
Quod the Beadsman on Nithside. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON NITHSIDE, DECEMBER, 1788. 

[Of this Poem Burns thought so well that he gave away many copies in his own hand 
writing: I have seen three. When corrected to his mind, and the manuscripts showed 
many changes and corrections, he publislied it in the now edition of bis Poems as it stands 
in this second copy. The little Hermitage where these lines were written, stood in a 
lonely plantation belonging to the estate of Friars-Carse, and close to the march-dylie of 
Kllisland ; a small door in the fence, of which the poet b>ad the key, admitted b^m at plea- 
sure, iind there he found seclusion such as he liked, with flowers and shrubs all around 
him. The first twelve lines of the Poem were engraved neatly on one of the window-panes, 
by the diamond pencil of the bard. On Riddel's death, the Ifermitage was allowed to go 
quietly to decay : I remember in 1803 turning two outlyer stots out of the interior.] 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed. 
Be thou deck'd in silken stole. 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 

Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 



240 T IT E r E T I C A L W R K S OF 

Hope not suii8luno ov'ry liour. 

Fear not clouds will always lour. 

As Youth and Love with sprightly dauee 

Beneath thy morning- star advance, 

Pleasure with her siren air 

May delude the thoughtless pair : 

Let Prudence bless eujoynieut's cup, 

Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 

Life's meridian flaming nigh. 

Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 

Life's proud summits would'st thou scale ? 

Check thy climbing step, elate, 

Evils lurk in felon w;iit : 

Dangers, cagle-pinion'd. bold. 

Soar around each clifty hold, 

"While cheerful peace, with liuuet song, 

Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of ev'uing close, 

Beck'ning thee to long repose j 

As life itself becomes disease, 

Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 

There ruminate, with sober thought, 

On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought; 

And teach the sportive younkers round, 

Saws of experience, sage and sound. 

Say, man's true genuine estimate, 

The grand criterion of his fate, 

Is not — Art thou high or low ? 

Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 

Wast thou cottager or king ? 

Peer or peasant ? — no such thing ! 

Did many talents gild thy span ? 

Or frugal nature grudge thee one ? 

Tell them, and press it on their mind. 

As thou thyself must shortly find, 

The smile or frown of awful Ileav'u, 

To virtue or to vice is giv'u. 



ROBERT BURNS. 241 

Say, to be just, and kintl, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base. 

Thus, resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bod of lasting sleep; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake. 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till future life, future no more. 
To light and joy the good restore. 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heav'n be thy guide ! 
Quod the beadsman of Nithside. 



TO CAPTAIN KIDDEL, OF GLENRIDDEL, 

EXTEMPORE LINES ON nETURNING A NEWSPAPER. 

[Ciptnin Kiddell, the Lnii-d of Friars-Carse, was I?urns's noigbliour at Ellisland: he was 
a kind, hospitiiblo man, and a good anti(iuary. Tlio " News and Review" which ho sent 
to the poet contained, I have'heard, some sharp strictures on Iiis works: Burns, with liis 
usual strong sense, set tlie proper value upon all contemporary criticism ; genius, he 
knew, had nothing to fear from the folly or the malice of all such nameless "ehippers and 
hewors." He demanded trial by his peers, and where were such to be found?] 

Ellisland, 3Ionday Evening. 

Your news and review. Sir, I've read through and through, 
Sir, 

With little admiring or blaming ; 
The papers are barren of home-news or foreign. 

No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends, the reviewers, those ehippers and hewers, 

Are judges of mortar and stone, Sir, 
But of meet or unmeet in ^fahric complete, 

I'll boldly pronounce they are none. Sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to toll all your goodness 

Bestow'd on your servant, the Poet ; 
Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, 

And then all the world, Sir, should know it I 
21 



242 T II !•: r o e t i c a l works of 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON. 

["The Mother's Lsii^ont." says tlio iuiot, in a copy of tlio vi'isos now licforo me, "was 
ooniposej pnrtly willi ii view to Jlrs. Korgiisson of Crai-ilarroch. and partly to tlio worthy 
patroness of my early unknown muse, Mrs. Stewart, of Afton."J 

Fa'I'K gave the word, tlio nvfow 8]ic(l, 

And piofc'd my darling's hoart; 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour'd laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

JMy age's future shatle. 

The mother-linnot in the brake 

liewails her ravish'd young; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live day long. 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow. 

Now, fond I bare my breast, 
0, do thou kindly lay me low 

^Yitl^ him I love, at rest ! 



FIRST EPISTLE TO KOBEllT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRAY. 

[In his manuscript eopy of this Kpistle the y>oet says " accompanying a request." Wliat 
the rciiuest was the letter which ouclosed it relates, liraliani was one of the leading men 
of the Kxcit^e in Scotland, and had promised llurns a situation as exciseman : for tliis tlio 
poet Iiad qualified liimself ; and as lie hegan to dread that larmins!; would he unpix>titahle, 
he wiYite to remind his patron of his promise, and requested to he appointed to a division 
in his own ueifihliourhood. He w.is appointed in due time: his division was extensive, 
and included ten parishes.] 

When Nature her great master-piece designed. 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind. 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan. 
She form'd of various parts the various man. 

Then lir.-^t she ealls the useful many forth ; 
IMaln plodding industry, and sober worth : 
Thenee peasants, farmers, native sons of earth, 
And merchandise' whole gouus take their birth : 



ROBERT BURNS. 243 

Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 

And all mechanics' many-apron' d kinds. 

Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 

The lead and buoy are needful to the net; 

The caput mortimm ot" <;'ross desires 

IMakes a material for mere knights and squires; 

The martial phosphorus is taught to tlow, 

She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough, 

Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs. 

Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : 

Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles. 

The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order'd system fair before her stood, 
Nature, well pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good; 
]?ut ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
ILdf-jest, she tried one curious labour more. 

Some spumy, fiery, vjnu fatmis matter, 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we. 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it) 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a Poet. 
Creature, tho' oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-nK)rrow. 
A being form'd t'amusc his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and there the homage ends : 
A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife. 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

l?ut honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 

She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work. 

I'ityiiig the propless climber of mankind, 

She cast about a standard tree to find ; 

And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 

Attach'd him to the generous truly great. 



244 THE POETICAL WOllKS OF 

A titlo, aiul the only ono I olaiin, 

To lay strong hold tor help on bounteous Crahaui. 

Pity the tuneful muses' hapless train, 

Weak, timid landsmen ou life's stormy main ! 

Their hearts no selfish stern absorbent stutt", 

That never gives — tho' humbly takes enough; 

The little fate allows, they share as soon. 

Unlike sagt> proverb'd wisdom's hard-M'rung boon. 

The world were blest did bliss on then\ depend, 

x\h, that the friendly o'er should want a friend I" 

Let prudenee luimber o'er oaeh sturdy son 

"Who life and wisdom at one raee begun. 

Who feel by reason and who give by rule, 

(Instiuefs a brute, and sentinunit a fool !) 

Who make poor will do wait upon I shoiihl — 

AVe own they're prudent, but Avho feels they're good ? 

Ye wise ones, heneo I ye hurt the soeial eye ! 

God's image rudely eteh'd on base alloy ! 

But come ye who the godlike pleasure know, 

Heaven's attribute distinguished — to bestow ! 

"NVhose arms of love would grasp the human raee : 

Come thou who giv'st with all a eourtier's graee; 

Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 

Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 

"Why shrinks my soul half blushing, half afraid, 
Baekward, abash'd to ask thy friendly aid ? 
I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 
I erave thy friendship at thy kind oominand ; 
But there are sueh who court the tuneful nine — 
Heavens ! should the branded cbanieter be mine ! 
Whose verso in manhood's pride sublimely liows. 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 
Mark, how their lofty independent spirit 
Soars on tho spurning wing of injur'd merit ! 
Seek not the pmofs in private life to find ; 
Pity the best of words sho\ild be but wind ! 
So to heawn's gates the lark's shrill song ascends. 
But sri-ovelliuc; ou the earth the carol euds. 



EGBERT BURNS. 245 

In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, 

They dun benevolence with shameless front; 

Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays, 

They persecute you all your future days ! 

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain. 

My horny fist assume the plough again ; 

The piebald jacket let me patch once more j 

On eighteen-pence a week I've liv'd before. 

Tho', thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift ! 

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift : 

That, plac'd by thee upon the wish'd-for height, 

Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, 

Wy muse may imp her wing for some sublimcr flight. 



ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

[T found these lines written with a pencil in one of Burns's memorandum-hooks : he said 
he had just composed them, and pencilled them down lest thoy should escape from his 
memory. They dilTered in nothing from the printed copy of the first Liverpool edition. 
That they are hy Burns there cannot be a doubt, though they were, I know not for what 
reason, excluded from several editions of tlio Posthumous Works of tho poet.] 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 

Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air, 
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell. 

Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ;^ 

Or mus'd where limpid streams once hallow' d well,* 
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane.^ 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks. 
The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky. 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon ro.se in the livid east. 

And 'niong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form. 



1 The King's Park, at Holy rood-house. * St. Anthony's Well. 

8 St. .Anthony's Chapel. 
21 » 



246 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd : 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 

Eevers'd that spear, redoubtable in war. 

Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurl' d, 

That like a deathful meteor gleam' d afar 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world. — 

" My patriot son fills an untimely grave !" 

With accents wild and lifted arms — she cried; 

'' Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
Low lies the heart that swell' d with honest pride. 

" A weeping country joins a widow's tear. 

The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 
The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, 
' And grateful science heaves the heart-felt sigh ! 

''I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; 

I saw fair freedom's blossoms richly blow : 
But ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 

Relentless fiite has laid their guardian low. 

" My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 

While empty greatness saves a worthless name ? 

No; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

" And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last; 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs !" — 
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. 



ROBERT BURNS. 247 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. 

[This little lively, liiting epistle was addressed to one of the poet's Kilmarnock com- 
panions. Hugh Parker was the brother of William Parker, one of the subscribers to the 
Edinburgh edition of Burns's Poems: he has been dead many years : the Epistle was 
recovered, luckily, from his papers, and printed for the first time in 1834.] 

In this straDge land, this uncouth clime, 

A land unknown to prose or rhyme ; 

Where words ne'er crost the muse's heckles^ 

Nor limpet in poetic shackles : 

A land that prose did never view it, 

Except when drunk he stacher't thro' it, 

Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek, 

Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 

I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 

I hear it — for in vain I leuk. — 

The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 

Enhusked by a fog infernal : 

Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 

I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 

For life and spunk like ither Christians, 

I'm dwindled down to mere existence, 

Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 

Wi' nae kend face but Jenny Geddes.^ 

Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 

Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 

And ay a westlin leuk she throws, 

While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose ! 

Was it for this, wi' canny care, 

Thou bure the bard through many a shire ? 

At howes or hillocks never stumbled, 

And late or early never grumbled ? — 

O had I power like inclination, ' 

I'd heeze thee up a constellation, 

To canter with the Sagitarre, 

Or loup the ecliptic like a bar; 

Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 

Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow. 



248 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Powii tlio zocliac uviie tlio race, 
And cast dirt on liis godship's tai'o ; 
For 1 could lay uiy broad and kail 
Ilc'd no'or cast saut upo' thy tail. — 
Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
And snia', snia' prospect of relief, 
And nought but peat reek i' my head, 
How can I write wliat ye can read i? — 
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
Ye'll find nie in a better tune; 
]5ut till we meet and wcct our whistle, 
Tak this excuse for uae epistle. 

lloBEUT Burns. 



LINES INTENDED TO BE AVUI TTEN UNDER A NOBLE 
EARL'S riCTLlRE. 

|l!iirns placoil tlio vortniils of Dr. IJlncklook ami tho Earl of (llonoairn, ovor his parlour 
chilli iu>y-|>ii'i'o lit Kllislnml: boiu'iith tho ho.id of tho liittor he wroto some vorsos, which 
lio soiit to tho Karl, ami roiiuostcil lonvo to make public. This sooms to h.ivo been 
rofuseil; ami, as tho vorsos «ori< lost for yoars, it wa.s boliovinl thoy wore destroyed: a 
iMuuh copy, however, is preservwl, and is now in the sat'e keepiiii; of the Karl's name-son, 
Major .lames IJleiicairn lUirns. .lames Cuiiiiin);ham, Karl of Oleiicairn, died 20lh .laniiary, 
ITS'l. m;ed 4'J vtuirs: li<< was succeoileil by his only and childless brother, with whom this 
aiu'ieut race was dosed. ] 

"WiiosK is that noble, dauntle.<s brow? 

And whose that eye of lire ? 
And whose that generous princely mien. 

E'en rooted foes admire ? 
Stranger ! to justly show that brow, 

And mark that eye of fire, 
Would take J/is hand, whose vernal tints 

His other works inspire. 

])right as a cli>udless summer sun, 

With stately port he moves; 
His guardian seraph eyes with awe 

The noble ward he loves — 
Among the illustrious Scottish sons 

That chief thou may'st discern ; 
IMark Scotia's fond returning eye — ■ 

It dwells upon Gloucairu. 



R 1? K R T K U R N S. 249 

ELEGY ON TIIH YEAR 1788. 

A SKl'.TClr. 

[This Poom wfts first printed hy Sto.vnrt, in ISOl. The poet loved to indnlge in sueh 
sarcastic sallies : it is full of eharnctor, and reflects a distinct imago of those yeasty tiuies.J 

For Lords or Kings T dimia inouni, 
E'en ht them die— for tliat they're born, 
]Jut oh ! jirodigious to reflee' ! 
A Towinout, Sirs, is gane to wreek ! 
Eighty-eight, in thy sina' space 
What dire events ha'e taken phtce ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead; 
The tulzie's sair 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
And our guid wife's wee birdie cocks; 
The tane is game, a bluidie devil. 
But to the lien-birds uiioo civil : 
The tithcr's something dour o' treadin', 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden — 
Ye ministers, come mount the pu'pit, 
An' cry till ye be hearse an' roupet. 
For Eight-eight he wish'd you woel 
An' giod you a' baith gear au' meal • 
E'eu mony a plack, an' mony a peck, 
Ye ken yourscls, for little feck ! 

l''e bonnie lasses, dight your e'en. 
For some o' you ha'e tint a fricn' ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'en, 
What ye'll ne'er ha'e to gic again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, 
IIow dowf and dowic now they creep; 
Nay, even the yirth itscl' does cry, 
For Embro' wells are grutten dry. 
Kighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
An' no owro auld, I hope, to learn ! 



250 T 11 K V !■; T I l^ A h W K K S F 

'.rh.m ht'ardloss boy. 1 pray tak' i'aiv, 

Tlum now has not tliy ilackly's rliair. 

^l'ao liaiul-cutVM, iiiizlM, liap-sliai-klM lu'mMit, 

luit, like hiiuscr a full I'u'o am'iit. 

]5o Miro \o follow out tlio plan 

Nai' waiir than ho d'ul. honost uuin ! 

As nnuklo hot tor as yo ran. 

./(tntiari/ 1, 17S0. 



APOKKSS TO TllH TOOTH ACllK. 

[" I bsul intiMnUvl," says Uurns to Ovetvli. SOIlv Mny. 17S0, -to tmvo tnniVilea you with 
n Ions; lottcr, I'Ut lit pivsout tl\o itcliislitful sonsntloii of nn omiilpi't.-ut lootliju-ho so i'i\- 
jiTOssos nil my iunoi- iiinn. «s to v'lit it ovit of uiy (lowor o\»'i\ to write ni.iiscusi'." Tlio 
IHioUo AJdross to tho 'roothsu-ho somiis to ln>lonat to this voriod.] 

]\1y oiu'so in>on thy vonomM slanii', 
That shoots my tortnvM gums alansi-; 
Ami thn)' my Ings gios motiy a twanu;, 

^V^ guawiui:; vongoam-o ; 
Toariui;- my norvos wi" hittov pan<r. 

Like raokino- ongincs! 

Whon tVvofs buni, or aguo tVoo/.os, 
Uhouinatu's gnaw, or i-holio sijuoozos; 
Our noighbours' sympathy may case us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
Init tluH — thon holl o' a' diseases, 

Ay moi'ks our groan ! 

Atlown my board tho slavers trieklo ! 
1 kiek the wee stools o'er the miekle, 
As round the tire the giglets keekle, 

To see me lonp ; 
While, raving mad. I wish a heekle 

Were in their donp. 

(V a' the num'rous human dools, 
HI har'sts. daft bargains, entty-stools, 
Or worthy- friends rak'd i' the mools, 
Sad siiiht to see ! 



IIOBKUT BURNS. 251 

The tricks u' kuavos, or fa.sli o' iouls, 

Tlioa boars't tlic i;roe. 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a' the tones o' niis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their nunib(>rs tell, 

In dreadt'u' raw, 
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell 

Aniang thoni a' ! 

thou j^rim niischief-niakiiii;- chiel 
That gars the notes of discord s(|ueel, 
'Till daft inankiud aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoo-thick ! — 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towinond's Toothache. 



ODE SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD, 

OF AUC'IIKNCUUIVK. 

[T'lo origin of this linrsli cfTusion shows uiulor what feoliiiRS Tiurns sometimes wrote. 
Ho was. ho say.^, on liis way to Ayi-.ehiro, one stormy day in .Tanuary, and had made him- 
self comfortaljlo, in sjiito of tlio snow-drift, over a smoliinj; howl, at an inn at tho Sanquhar, 
wlion in whcoled tlio whole funeral pageantry of Mrs. Oswald. Ho was obli^jed to mount 
his horse and ride for quarters to New Cuninocl<, whore, over a f;ood fire, he penned, in 
his vory unjjallant indignation, tho Ode to the lady's memory. Ho lived to think hettor 
of the name.] 

DwKLLKH ill yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark ! 
Who in widow-weeds appears, 
]ja(len with unhonour'd years. 
Noosing with dare a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse ? 

STItOI'lIH. 

View the wither'd beldam's face — 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of Ilumimity's sweet melting grace? 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 

Pity's flood there never rose. 



252 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

See these hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 

Hands that took — but never gave. 

Keeper of IManimou's iron chest, 

Lo, there she goes, unpitied and unblest — 

She goes, but not to reahns of everkisting rest ! 

ANTlSrnOPHE. 

Phmderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 

(Awhile forbear, ye tort' ring fiends j) 

Seest thou whose step, unwilling, hither bends ? 

No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies; 

'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 

Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 

She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 



And are they of no more avail. 

Ten thousand glittering pounds a-year? 

In other worlds can Mammon fail, 

Omnipotent as he is here ? 

0, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 

While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! 

The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear, 

Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n. 



FRAGMENT. 

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. C. .1. FOX, 

[It was late in life before Burns hej^nn to think very hiirlily of Fox : lie had hitherto 
spoken of him rather as a rattler of diee, and a frequenter of soft eonipany. than as a stales- 
man. As his hopes from the Tories vanished, he befjan to think of tlie Whigs : the tirst did 
nothing, and the latter held ont hopes; and ,is hope, he said, w.is the eordi.il of the human 
heart, he eoutinued to hope on.] 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How virtue and vice blend their black and their white; 
How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction, 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 
I sing : if these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not I — let the critics go whistle ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 253 

]lut uow for a patron, whose uame and wliose glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our wits j 

Yet whose parts and aciiuirements seem mere lucky hits; 

With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 

With passions so potent, and fancies so bright. 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right; — 

A sorr}^, poor misbegot son of the muses, 

For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good L — d, what is man ? for as simple he looks. 
Do but try to develope his hooks and his crooks ; 
With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, 
All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil. 

On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labours. 

That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, eats up its neighbours; 

Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you know him ? 

Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will show him. 

What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system. 

One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd him ; 

For spite of his fine theoretic positions. 

Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe. 

And think human nature they truly describe; 

Have you found this, or t'other? there's more in the wind, 

As by one drunken fellow his comrade you'll find. 

But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan, 
In the make of that wonderful creature, call'd man. 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
Nor even two different shades of the same, 
Though like as was ever twin brother to brother, 
Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce with a muse. 
Whose rhymes you'll perhaps. Sir, ne'er deign to peruse : 
Will you leave your justings, your jars, and your quarrels. 
Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels. 
22 



254 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

My much-honour'd Patron, believe your poor poet, 
Your courage much more than your prudence you show it; 
In vain with Squire Billy, for laurels you struggle, 
He'll have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle; 
Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em, 
He'd up the back-stairs, and by G — he would steal 'em. 
Then feats like S((uire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em ; 
It is not, outdo him, the task is, out-thieve him. 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, 

WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT. 

[This Poem is foundeil on fact. A young man of the name of Thomson told me — quite 
unconscious of the existence of the Poem — that while Burns lived at Ellisland — he shot at 
and hurt a hare, which in the twilight was feeJiugon his father's wheat-bread. The poet, 
on observing the hare come bleeding past him, " was in great wrath," .said Thomson, " and 
cursed me, and said little hindered him from throwing me into the Nith ; and he was able 
enough to do it, though I was both young and strong."' The boor of Nithside did not use 
the hare worse than the critical Dr. Gregory, of Edinburgh, used the Poem: when Burns 
read his remarks he said, "Gregory is a good man, but he crucifies me!"] 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 

And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye; 

INIay never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart. 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field ! 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plaiu.s 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 

No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 

The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, T, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn ; 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruflBan's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 



ROBERT BURNS. 1i55 



TO DR. BLACKLOCK, 

IN ANSWER TO A LETTER. 

[This blind scholar, though an indifferent Poet, was an excellent and generous^man: 
he was foremost of the Edinburgh literati to admire the Poems of Burns, promote their 
fame, and advise that the author, instead of shipping himself for Jamaica, should come to 
Eilinburgh and publish a new edition. The poet reverenced the name of Thomas Black- 
lodv to the last hour of his life. — Henry Mackenzie, the Earl of Glencairn, and the Blind 
Bard, were his three favourites.] 

Ellisland, list Oct. 1789. 
WoAV, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie ? 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord semi you ay as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tauld mysel' by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak my letter: 
I lippen'd to the chief in trouth, 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron, 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And, tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'm turn'd a gauger — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, 

Ye'll now disdain me ! 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaiket, gieesome, dainty damies, 
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 



256 THE r E T I r a l w o k k s o f 

Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty liuibies, 
Ye keu, ye ken, 

That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I liae a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They niauu hae brose and brats o' duddies ; 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is — 

I need ua vaunt, 
But I'll sued besoms — thraw saugh woodics, 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air I 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Thau mouy ithei-s ; 
But why should ae man better faro, 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in nian ! 
And let us mind, taint-heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair : 
"Wha does the utmost that he can, 

"Will whylcs do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 

(I'm scant o' verso, aiul scant o' time,) 

To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wife, 
That's the tnie pathos and sublime 

Of humau life. 

3Iy compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Luekv, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckie. 

As e'er tread cla}- 1 
And gratefullj, my guid auld cockie, 

I'm yours for ay, 

Egbert Burns. 



ROBERT BURNS. 257 

DELIA. 



[These verses were first printed in the Star newspaper, in May, 17S9. It is said that 
one day a friend read to the poet some verses from the Star, composed on the pattern of 
Tope's Sons, by a Person of Qniility. " These lines are beyond you," he added : " tlio 
muse of Kyle cannot match the muse of Loudon." Burns mused a moment, aud then 
recitad " Delia, an Ode."j 

Fair the face of orient day, 
Fair the tints of op'uing rose, 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
But, Delia, more delightful still 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flow'r-enamour'd busy bee 
The rosy bantjuet loves to sijj; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lips ; — • 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove ! 
0, let me steal one liquid kiss ! 
For oh ! my soul is parch'd with love. 



TO JOHN" M'MUKDO, ESQ. 

[.Tohn M'Murdo, Esq., one of the chamberlains of the Duke of Qucensberry, lived at 
Drnnilanrig: ho was a hi^h-minded. warmhearted man, and much the friend of the poet. 
These lines accompanied a present of books: others were added soon afterwards on a pane 
of glass in Drumlanrig Castle. 

" Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day 1 
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray; 
No wrinkle furrow'd by the hand of care, 
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair! 
O m.ny no son the father's honour stain, 
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain." 

How fully the poet's wishes were fultilled need not be told to any one acquainted with 
the family.] 

0, COULD I give thee India's wealth, 
As I this trifle send ! 
22* 



258 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Because thy joy in both would be 
To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold could never buy — 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



PROLOGUE, 

spoken at the theatre, dumfries, 
1 Jan. 1790. 



[This prolojue was written in December, 1789, for Mr. Sutlierl.intl, who recited it with 
applause in the little theatre of Dumfries, on new-year'.s night. Sir Harris Nicolas, how- 
ever, has given to Ellislaud the benefit of a theatre! and to Burns the whole barony of 
Dalswinton for a farm!] 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 

That queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity : 

Tho', by-the-by, abroad why will, you roam ? 

Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wi.sh you all a good new year ! 

Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : 

The sage grave ancient cough'd and bade me say, 

" You're one year older this important day." 

If wiser too — he hinted some suggestion. 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; 

And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, 

He bade me on you press this one word — "think !" 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush'd with hope and spirit, 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 
To you the dotard has a deal to say, 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ; 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle. 
That the first blow is ever half the battle : 
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him, 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him; 



ROBERT BURNS. 259 

That, wliether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair. 
Angelic forms, higli Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
And humbly begs you'll mind the important now ! 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours. 
With grateful pride we own your many favours, 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it. 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 



SCOTS PROLOGUE, 
FOR MR. Sutherland's benefit night, Dumfries. 

[Burns dirl not shine in prologues: he produced some Tigorous lines, hut they did not 
come in harmony from his tongue, like tlie songs in which he recorded the loveliness of 
the dames of Caledonia. Sutherland was manager of the theatre, and a writer of 
rhymes. — Burns said his players were a very decent set : he had seen them an evening 
or two.] 

What needs this din about the town o' Lou'on, 
How this new play an' that new sang is comin' ? 
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted ? 
Does nonsense mend like whiskey, when imported ? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame. 
Will try to gie us songs an' plays at hame ? 
For comedy abroad he need nae toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil ; 
Nor need he hunt as far as Kome and Greece 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enough iu Caledonian story, 
Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory. 

Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell ? 
Where are the muses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 



260 THE roETiCAL works of 

ITow liere, even here, lie first uusheatli'd the sword, 

'Gainst mighty Enghuid and her guilty lord, 

And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, 

Wrench' d his dear country from the jaws of ruin ? 

for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene, 

To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen ! 

Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms 

'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Rebellion's arms. 

She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman, 

To glut the vengeance of a rival woman ; 

A woman — tho' the phrase may seem uncivil — 

As able and as cruel as the Devil ! 

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 

But Douglases were heroes every age : 

And tho' your fathers, prodigal of life, 

A Douglas follow'd to the martial strife, 

Perhaps if bowls row right, and right succeeds, 

Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads ! 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 
"Would take the muses' servants by the hand; 
Not only hear, but patronize, befriend them, 
And where ye justly can commend, commend them ; 
And aiblius when they winna stand the test, 
"Wink hard, and say the folks hae done their best ! 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution 
Ye'U soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation. 
Will gar fame blaw until her trumpet crack. 
And warsle time, an' lay him on his back ! 

For us and for our stage should ony spier, 
" Whase aught thac chiels maks a' this bustle here !" 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow, 
We have the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like, 
]^ut like good mithcrs, shore before ye strike. — 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us, 
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 
We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks : 
God help us! we're but poor — yo'&e get but thanks. 



ROBERT BURNS 261 

SKETCH. 

NEW YEAR'S DAY. 

TO MUS. DUNLOP. 

[This is a picture of the Dutilop tiimily : it was printed from a hasty sketch, wliich the 
poet called extempore. The m«jor whom it mentions, was (Jeneral Andrew Dunlop, who 
died iu 180-t: Rachel Dunlop was afterwards niarried to Robert Glasjiow, Esq. Another 
of the Uunloj s served with distinction in India, where he rose to the rank of Cieueral. 
They were a gallant race, and all distinguished.] 

This day, Time winds tli' exhausted cbain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
I see the old, bald-^iatcd fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine. 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir, 
la vain assail him with their prayer ; 
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds; 
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day. 
And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
— That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow — 
And join with me a moralizing, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
" Another year is gone for ever." 
And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
" The passing moment's all we rest on I" 
Ilest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
Or why regard the passing year? 
Will time, amus'd with proverb' d lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may — a few years must — 
Repose us iu the silent dust. 



262 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Then is it wise to damj? our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! 
The voice of uatui'e loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies : 
That on this frail, uncertain state, 
Hang matters of eternal weight : 
That future life in worlds unknown 
]Must take its hue from this alone ; 
Whether as heavenly glory bright. 
Or dark as misery's woeful night. — 

Since then, my honour' d, first of friends, 
On this poor being all depends. 
Let us th' important now employ. 
And live as those who never die. — 

Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd. 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse, 
A sight, pale envy to convulse,) 
Others now claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, 
AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. 

[These sarcastic lines contain a too true picture of the times in which they were writ- 
ten. Though great changes have taken place in court and camp, yet Austria, Russia, and 
Prus.sia keep the tack of Poland: nobody .says a word of Denmark : emasculated Italy is 
still singing; opera girls are still dancing; but Chatham Will, glaikit Charlie, Daddie 
Burke, lloyal George, and Geordie Wales, have all passed to their account.] 

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through, 
And, faith, to me 'twas really new ! 
How guess'd ye. Sir, what raaist I wanted? 
This mony a day I've grain' d and gaunted. 
To ken what French mischief was brewin' ; 
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin' ; 
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 
If Venus yet had got his nose off; 



ROBERT BURNS. 263 

Or how the collieshangie works 

Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 

Or if the Swede, before he halt, 

Would play anither Charles the Twalt : 

If Denmark, any body spak o't; 

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hinain' : 

How libbet Italy was singin' ; 

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss 

Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 

Or how our merry lads at hame. 

In Britain's court kept up the game : 

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er him 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin' ; 

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin', 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin; 

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, 

Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera girls ; 
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails ; 
Or if he was grown oughtlius douser, 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. — 
A' this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despair' d of. 
So, gratefu', back your news I send you. 
And pray, a' guid things may attend you ! 

Ellidand, Monday Morning, 1790. 



20 1 T 11 H V E T I C A L AV K K 8 OF 

THE KIRK'S ALARM;' 

A SATIRE. 

[KIltST VERSION.] 

[Tho history of this Poom is curious. M'tiill, ono of the mini«tors of .\yr. Ions su,ipectoil 
pf iMitcrtiiiiiiiif; hctoroilox opinions oonci'rninj; ori;;in!il sin unit thi-'l'iinity, publislioj " .\ 
I'riictifiil Vsfiiy on tlio IViitli of .lesiis Olirist." wliich, in tho opinion of tlin moro ri^iJ 
portion of liis I'rotlircn, ini-linod botli to .\rianism tnul i^ocinianism. This essay was 
tlonomicfii as liorotioal, hy a minister of tlio name of I'eebles. in a sermon yiix-arheil 
Novemlier Mli, 17SS, nuil all the ^Yest country was in a tlame. The subjivt was hnniRht 
before tlie !i>ynoil, anil was warmly ilebatiil till Sl'tiill expressed his rejjret for the Uisiiuiet 
ho hail occasioned, e.xplainiHl ivway or apologized for the ehalleused passages in his 
Kssay, and declared his adherence to tho standard doctrines of his mother church. lUirns 
was prevailed upon to briii,.; his satire to the aid of .M\!ill, but he appears to have doua 
BO with reluctance.] 

OuTlloiH^x, orthodox, 

Wlia bolievo in John Knox, 
Lot mo souiul an alarm to your conscience : 

Thoro's a horotio blast 

Has boon blawn in tho wast, 
That what is no sonso must bo nonsonso. 

Dr. Mac,^ Dr. Mao, 

You should strotoh on a rack, 
To strike evil doors Avi' terror; 

To join faith and souse 

Upon ony protenco. 
Is horetlo, damnable error. 

Town of .Vyr. town of Ayr, 

It was mad, I doolaro, 
To meddle wi' misohief a-browinp; ; 

Provost John* is still deaf 

To tho ohuvoh's relief. 
And orator l>ob* is its ruin. 

D'rymplo mild,'' D'rymplo mild, 

Tho' your heart's like a child, 
Aud your life like tho now driven suaw. 

Yet that winna save ye, 

Auld Satan must have ye, 
For proaohing that three's ane an' twa. 

• This PcHnn was written a short time after the public.'»tion of M'Gill's Essay. 
2 Ur. M'Oill. s .lohn Uallantyne. 

« Kobort Aiken. » l)r. Dalryniplo. 



ROBERT 15 U R N S. 265 

Humble John,' lluuiblo JdIhi, 

IMouiit the steps wi' a groan, 
Cry the botik is wi' heresy cranini'd; 

Then hig oxit your huile, 

Deal brimstone like adle, 
And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James,' Simper James, 

Leave the fair Killie dames, 
There's a holier chase in your view ; 

I'll lay on your head 

That the pack ye'll soon lead, 
For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawney," Singet Sawney, 

Are ye herding the penny. 
Unconscious what evil await ? 

Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, 

Alarm every soul, 
For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld,' Daddy Auld, 

There's a tod in the fauld, 
A tod meiklc waur than the clerk; 

Though ye can do little skaith, 

Ye'll be in at the death, 
And gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 

Davie Bluster,^ Davie Bluster, 

If for a saint ye do muster. 
The corps is no nice of recruits ; 

Yet to worth let's be just. 

Royal blood ye might boast. 
If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamy Goose," Jamy Goose, 
Ye ha'e made but toom roose. 
In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 



1 Mr. Rus-sell. - Mr. K'Kinlay. 

8 Jlr. Jlooily, of Riccarton. * Mr. Auli.1, of Mauclilino. 

6 Mr. Grant, of Ochiltree. " Mr. Young, of Cumuoek. 
23 



^GQ THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

I>ut the Doctor's your mark, 
For the L — d's haly ark ; 
lie has cooper'd and cawd a wrung piu iu't. 

Poet Willie/ Poet Willie, 

Gio the Doctor a volley, 
Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit; 

O'er Pegasus' side 

Ye ne'er laid astride, 
Ye but smelt, man, the place where he 



Andro Gouk,'^ Andre Gouk, 

Ye may slander the book, 
And the book not the waur, let me tell ye ; 

Ye are rich and look big, 

But lay by hat and wig, 
And ye'll ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value. 

Barr Stecnio,^ Barr Steenie, 

What mean ye, what mean ye, 
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 

Ye may ha'e some pretence 

To bavins and sense, 
Wi' people wha ken ye uae better. 

Irvine side,* Irvine side, 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
Of manhood but sma' is your share j 

Ye've the figure 'tis true, 

Even your facs Avill allow, 
And your friends thoy daur grant you nae mair. 

]Muirland Jock,^ IMuirland Jock, 

When the L — d makes a rock 
To crush Common sense for her sins, 

If ill manners were wit. 

There's no mortal so tit 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 



1 Mr. Peebles, Ayr. * Dr. Andrew Mitchell, of Monkton. 

s Mr. Stephen Youiis;. of llarr. * Mr. tioorgo Smith, of CliIsIou. 

' Mr. Johu Shepherd, Muirkiik. 



ROBERT BURNS. 267 

Holy Will/ Holy Will, 

There was wit i' your skull, 
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; 

The timnier is scant, 

When ye 're ta'en for a saunt, 
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 

Seize your spir'tual guns. 
Ammunition you never can need ; 

Your hearts arc the stuff. 

Will be powther enough, 
And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 

Wi' your pricst-skelping turns, 
Why desert ye yovir auld native shire ? 

Your muse is a gipsie, 

E'en tho' she were tipsie, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 



THE KIRK'S ALARM. 



[second version.; 

[This version is from the papers of Miss Lo^aii, of Afton. The origin of the Poem is thus 
related to Graham of Fintry hy the poet himself: "Though I dare say you have none of 
the solemn League and Covenant fire which shone so conspicuous in Lord George Gordon, 
and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet, I think you must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one of the 
clergymen of Ayr, and his heretical hook, God help him, poor man ! Though one of the 
worthiest, as well as one of the ablest of the wliole priesthood of the Kirk of Scotland, in 
every sense of that, ambiguous term, yet the poor doctor and his numerous famil}' are in 
imminent danger of being thrown out (Oth December, 1790) to the mercy of the winter 
winds. The enclosed ballad on that business, is, I confess, too local: but I laughed my- 
self at .some conceits in it, though I am convinced in my conscience tliere are a good many 
heavy stanzas in it too." The Kirk's Alarm was first printed by Stewart, in ISOl. Cro- 
uiek calls it '• A silly satire, on .some worthy ministers of the gospel, in Ayrshire."] 

Orthodox, orthodox, 
Who believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience — 

1 Holy Willie, alias William Fisher, Elder in Mauehline. 



268 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

There's a hei'etic blast, 
Has beea blawu i' the wast, 

That what is not sense must be nonsense, 
Orthodox, 

That what is not sense must be nonsense. 

Doctor INIae, Doctor Mac, 

Ye shoukl stretch on a rack, 
And strike evil doers wi' terror; 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon any pi'etence, 
\Yas heretic damnable error, 

Doctor Mac, 
Was heretic damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 
It was rash I declare, 

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing j 
Provost John is still deaf. 
To the church's relief, 

And orator Bob is its ruin. 

Town of Ayr, 

And orator Bob is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, D'rymple mild, 
Tho' your heart's like a child. 

And your life like the new-driven snaw, 
Yet that wiuna save ye. 
Old Satan must have ye 

For preaching that three's aue an' twa, 
D'rymple mild 

For preaching that three's ane an' twa. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons. 
Seize your spiritual guns. 
Ammunition ye never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff. 
Will be powder enough, 



ROBERT BURNS. 2G9 

And your skulls are a storehouse of lead, 

Calvin's sons, 
And your skulls are a storehouse of lead. 

Rumble John, Rumble John, 

IMount the steps with a groan, 
Cry the book is with heresy cramm'd; 

Then lug out your ladle. 

Deal brimstone like aidle, 
And roar every note o' the damn'd. 

Rumble John, 
And roar every note o' the damn'd. 

Simper James, Simper James, 

Leave the fair Killie dames. 
There's a holier chase in your view ; 

I'll lay on your head, 

That the pack ye'll soon lead. 
For puppies like you there's but few, 

Simper James, 
For puppies like you there's but few. 

Singet Sawnie, Singet Sawnie, 

Are ye herding the penny. 
Unconscious what danger awaits ? 

With a jump, yell, and howl, 

Alarm eveiy soul. 
For Hannibal's just at your gates, 
Singet Sawnie, 
For Hannibal's just at your gates. 

Andrew Gowk, Andrew Gowk, 
Ye may slander the book. 
And the book nought the waur — let me tell you ; 
Tho' ye' re rich and look big. 
Yet lay by hat and wig. 
And ye'll hae a calf 's-head o' sma' value, 

Andrew Gowk, 
And ye'll hae a calf 's-herd o' sma' value. 
23* 



270 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

root Willie. l\>ot Willie, 

Cio the doctor a volley, 
Wi' your " liborty's chain'' and your wit; 

O'er I'cgasus' side, 

Ye ne'er laid a stride, 

Ye only stood by when he , 

Poet Willie, 
Y'e only stood by when he . 

]>arr Steenie, Barr Steenie, 
What mean ye? what mean ye ? 

If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter. 
Ye may hae some pretence, man. 
To havins and sense, man, 

Wi' people that ken ye nae better, 
Barr Steenie, 

Wi' people that ken ye nae better. 

Jamie Goose, Jamie Goose, 
Ye hae made but toom roose, 

0' huntini;- the wicked lieutenant ; 
But the doctor's your mark, 
For the L — d's holy ark, 

lie has eooper'd and ea'd a wrong pin in't, 
Jamie Goose, 

He has eooper'd and ea'd a wrong piu in't. 

Bavio l)lnster, l^avie Bluster, 
For a saunt if ye muster. 

It's a sign they're no nice o' recruits, 
Y'et to worth let's be just, 
Royal blood ye might boast, 

If the ass were the king o' the brutes, 
Davie Bluster, 

If the ass were the king o' the brutes. 

IMuirland George, Muirland George, 
Whom the Lord made a scourge. 
To claw common sense for her sins; 



ROBERT BURNS. 271 

If ill manners were wit, 

There's no mortal so fit, 
To confound the poor doctor at ance, 
Muirland George, 
To confound the poor doctor at ance. 

Cessnockside, Cessnockside, 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
0' manhood but snui' is your share; 

Ye've the figure, it's true. 

Even our faes maun allow, 
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair, 

Cessnockside, 
And your friends daurna say ye hae mair. 

Daddie Auld, Daddic Add, 

There's a tod i' the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ;^ 

Tho' ye downa do skaith, 

Ye'll he in at the death, 
And if ye canna bite ye can bark, 
Daddie Auld, 
And if ye canna bite ye can bark. 

Poet Burns, Poet Purns, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns. 
Why desert ye your auld native shire? 

Tho' your Muse is a gipsy. 

Yet were she even tipsy, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are, 

Poet Burns, 
She could ca' us nae AVaur thau we are. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Afton's Laird, Afton's Laird, 
When your pen can be spar'd, 
A copy o' this I bequeath, 

1 Qavia Humilton. 



THE POETICAL AV R K S OF 

On the same sicker score 

I mention' d before, 
To that trusty auld worthy Clackleith, 

Afton's Laird, 
To that trusty aukl worthy Chickleith. 



PEG NICIIOLSOX. 

[Those hasty versos are to be found in a letter addressed to Xicol, of the Hiciih School 
of Kdinburgh, by the poet, giving him an account of the unlooked-for death of his mure, 
I'eg Nifholsou, the successor of Jenny Geddes. She had suffered both iu the e-niploy of 
the joyous priest and the tlunightless poet. She acquired her mime fiom that fraulic 
Tirago who attempted to murder George the Third.] 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 

As ever trodc on airn ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

And past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 

And rode thro' thick an' thin ; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

And wanting even the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 

And ance she bore a priest; 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 

And the priest he rode her sair ; 
And much oppress'd and bruis'd .she was; 

As priest-rid cattle are, &c., &c. 



ROBERT BURNS. 273 



ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HKLD THE PATENT FOK HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM 
ALMIGHTY GOD. 

"Should the poor be flattered?"— Shakspeare. 
But now his radiant course is run, 

For Matthew's course was bright; 
His soul was like the glorious sun, 

A matchless heav'nly light I 

[Cajitain Matthew Henderson, a gentleman of very agreeable manners and great pro- 
priety of character, usually lived in Kdinburgh, dined constantly at Fortune's Tavern, and 
was a member of the CapiUaire Club, which was composed of all who desired to be thought 
witty or joyous: he died in 17S9: Burns, in a note to the Poem, says, "I loved the man 
much, and have not flattered his memory." Henderson seems indeed to have been uni- 
versally liked. " In our travelling party," says Sir James Campbell, of Ardkinglass, " was 
Matthew Ilender.son, then (175'J) and afterwards well known and much esteemed in the 
town of Edinburgh; at that time an officer in the twenty-fifth regiment of foot, and like 
myself on his vtay to join the army ; .and I may say with truth, that in the course of a 
long life I have never known a nrore estimable character, than JIatthew Henderson." 
Memoirs of Campbell, of Ardkinglass, p. 17.] 

Death ! tliou tyrant fell and bloody ! 

The meikle devil wi' a woodie 

Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane ! he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 

The ae best fellow e'er -was born ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd ! 



:r 



Ye hills ! near neebors o' the starns. 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns. 

Where echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens 
Wi' toddlin' din, 



274 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Or foaming strung, wi' hasty stens, 
Frae lin to lin ! 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the leaj 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; 
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first 0* flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 

Proops M'ith a diamond at its head, 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed 

I' th' rustling gale, 
Y'e maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come join my wail. 

jMouru, ye wee songsters o' the wood; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Y"e curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Yc whistling plover ; 
An' mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood I — 

He's gane for ever I 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels : 
I'e duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Kair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks, at close o'day, 
'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, 
"What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r. 
Sets up her horn, 



ROBERT BURNS. 2ib 

Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

^Till waukrife morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ? 
And frae my een the drappiug rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou, simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, gTceu, flow'ry tresses shear 

For him that's dead. 

Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear : 
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide, o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light I 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 

My IMatthew mourn I 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight, 
f Ne'er to return. 

0, Henderson I the man — the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ? 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 

The world around ? 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great, 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait. 

Thou man of worth ! 



27G THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Aud weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay iu earth. 

THE KPITAI'II. 

Stop, passenger ! — my story's brief, 
Aud truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae commou tale o' grief — 
For IMatthew was a great man. 

If thou i;ncouiuiou merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man, 

A look of pity hither cast — 
For Matthew was a poor mau. 

If thou a noble sodgcr art, 

That passest by this grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart — 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways. 
Canst throw uncommon light, man, 

Here lies wha wecl had won thy praise- 
For IMatthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man. 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fii' — • 
For Matthew was a kind man ! 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man, 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain — 
Fur JMatthow was a true mau. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire. 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man, 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire — 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin sot. 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man, 

May dool and sorrow be his lot ! 
For IMatthew was a rare man. 



ROBERT BURNS. 277 



THE FIVE CARLINS. 

A SCOTS BALLAD. 

Tune — "Chcvrj Chase.'' 

[Tliis is a local and politiciil Poem composed on tlio contest between Mill(!r, the younger, 
of Dalswinton, and Johnstone, of Westerhiill, for the roprosentatiou of the Dumfi-ios and 
Galloway district of liorovighs. Each town or horou|j,h speaks and acts in character: 
Mag^^y personates Dumfries; Marjory, Lochuiaben ; Bess of Solwayside, Annan; Whiskey 
Jean, Kirkcudbright; and Black Joan, Sanquhar. On the part of Miller, all the Whig 
interest of the Duke of Quoensberry was exerted, and all the Tory interest on the side of 
ttie Johnstone : the poet's heart was witli the latter. Annan and Lochmaben stood staunch 
by old names and old affections : after a contest, bitterer than anything of the kind remem- 
bered, the Whig interest prevailed.] 

TuERE were five carlins in the south, 

They fell upon a scheme, 
To send a lad to London town, 

To bring thein tidings haine. 

Not only bring them tidings hame. 

But do their errands there ; 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith, 

A dame wi' pride cneugh ; 
And Marjory o' the niony lochs, 

A carlin auld and teugh. 

And blinkin' Bess of Annandalc, 

That dwelt near Sulway-side; 
And Whiskey Jean, that took her gill 

In Galloway sae wide. 

And black Joan, frac Crichton-peel, 

O' gipsy kith an' kin; — 
Five wightcr carlins were na found 

The south countrie within. 

To send a lad to London town. 

They met upon a day ; 
And mony a knight, and mony a laird. 

This errand fain wad gae. 
2i 



278 THE roETiCAL works of 

mony a kuiglit, and mony a laird, 
This erraud fain wad gae ; 

But nae ane could their fancy please, 
ne'er a ane but twae. 

The first ane was a belted knight, 

Bred of a border band ; 
And he wad gae to London town, 

Might nae man hlni withstand. 

And he wad do their errands weel, 

And meikle he wad say; 
And ilka ane about the court 

Wad bid to hiin guid-day. 

The neist cam in a sodger youth. 
And spak wi' modest grace, 

And he wad gae to London town, 
If sac their pleasure was. 

lie wad na hecht them courtly gifts, 
Nor meikle speech pretend ; 

But he wad hecht an honest heart. 
Wad ne'er desert his friend. 

Then wham to chuse, and wham refuse. 
At strife thir carlins fell j 

For some had gentlefolks to please. 
And some wad please themsel'. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, 
And she spak np wi' pride, 

And she wad send the sodger youth. 
Whatever might betide. 

For the auld gudeman o' London court 

She didna care a pin ; 
But she wad send the sodger youth 

To iireet his eldest sou. 



ROBERT BURNS. 279 

Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, 

And wrinkled was her brow ; 
Iler ancient weed was russet gray, 

Her auld Scotch heart was true. 

" The London court set light by me — 

I set as light by them ; 
And I will send the sodger lad 

To shaw that court the same." 

Then up sprang Bess of Annandale, 

And swore a deadly aith, 
Says, "I will send the border-knight 

Spite o' you carlins baith. 

"For far-off fowls hae feathers fair, 

And fools o' change are fain ; 
But I hae try'd this border-knight, 

I'll try him yet again." 

Then whiskey Jean spak o'er her drink^ 

'' Ye weel ken, kimmers a', 
The auld gudeman o' London court, 

His back's been at the wa'. 

"And mony a friend that kiss'd his caup. 

Is now a fremit wight; 
But it's ne'er be sae wi' whiskey Jean, — 

We'll send the border-knight." 

Says black Joan o' Crichton-peel, 

A carlin stoor and grim, — 
"The auld guidman, or the young guidman, 

For me may sink or swim. 

" For fools will prate o' right and wrano-, 

While knaves laugh in their sleeve • 
But wha blaws best the horn shall win 

I'll speir nae courtier's leave." 



-"^O THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

So how this nii<;hty plea may cud 
Thero's uaobody can toll : 

God grant tlio king, and ilka man, 
May look wool to bimsel' 1 



THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS 0' NITII. 

[Tliis sliort I'ooiu was first publisliiHl by Robort Chambers. It intimatos pretty stronply, 
liiiw nuirh tho poi>t disappisiviHl of tlio ohanj^o wliich camo over the Duke of QiioeiislH'rry's 
opinions, when lie suppoi-teil tlio risilit of tlio I'rlneo of Wales to assume the government, 
without consent of Parliament, iluriiis tlio liini^'s alarming illness, iu 178S.] 

The laddios by tho banks o' Nith, 
Wad trnst his Craoo wl' a', Jamio, 

]?nt ho' 11 sail- thorn, as ho sair'd tho King, 
Tnrn tail and rin awa', Jamio. 

Up and wanr thorn a', Jamio, 

Up aiul wanr thorn a' ; 
Tho Johnstonos hao tho gnidiu' o't, 

Yo tuviu'oat Whigs, awa'. 

Tho day ho stndo his oountry's friond, 

Or giod hor faos a claw, Jamio : 
Or frao puir man a blossin' wan, 

That day the Duke no'or saw, Jamie. 

But wha is ho, his conntry's boast ? 

Like hini there is na twa, Jamio ; 
There's no a eallant tents the kye. 

But kcus o' Wosterha', Jamie. 

To end tho wark here's Whistlebirk,* 
Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie; 

And ]Ma.\woll true o' sterling blue : 
And we'll bo Johnstonos a', Jamio. 



1 Birkwhlstle : a Galloway laird, aud doctor. 



ROB EllT BURNS. 281 



F.PISTLE TO ROBKllT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FIXTRAY: 

ox THE CI.OSK (>!■' THK DISPUTKD EI.KCTION BETWUKN Sill JAMES JOHNSTONE AND 
CAI'TMN SIIT.I.ER, EOll THE nUMI'lUEiS mSTIlU^T Of IlOliOrOHS. 

[•'I am tiM) lilt'c n man." siiiil lUuiis. in tlic null' to Kiiitray, wliiili accompiuiied this 
pot'iu, " to liavo aii.v polilical attaihiiu'iit : 1 am doopl.v iiiiKliled tu. iiiul Iiave tlii' warmest 
vi'iioration lor iiuiivichuvls of lintli parties: but u man wlio lias it in his power to bo the 
father of a country, anil who acts lil^o his (irai'o of Quoonsberry, is a ehariicter tliat ono 
cannot sjioiU 'I' v>iih p.-iiicin'c," This Kpistln was fir.st printcil in my oilition of Hums in 
I'^^U: 1 had llic use of tlic Macmurdo and the Afton uninuscripts for that juirposB: to 
buili t'aniilics tlie poot was much indobtod for many acts of courtesy and liiiidncss.] 

FlNTHAY, luy stay in worltlly strife, 
rrioiul u' my imiso, IVioiitl o' my lil'o, 

Are yo as idle's I am? 
Come then, wi' uncontli, kintra flejj;, 
O'er lV<;asus I'll lliiin' my le<i', 

And yc shall see me try him. 

I'll sins; the zeal Drmnlanrii;- bears, 
Who left the all-im])(irtant cares 

Of jn-inees and their darlins; 
And, bent on winnin!2; borongh towns, 
Camo shaking hands wi' w;d)ster lowns, 

And kissing barelit carlius. 

Combnstion thro' onr boroughs rode, 
"Whistling his roaring pack abroad 

Of mad unmuzzled lions; 
As Queensberry butf and blue unfnrl'd, 
And Westerha' and Ilopeton hnrl'd 

To every Whig defiance. 

l>ut cautious Queensberry left the war, 
Th' unmanuer'd du.st might soil his star; 

Besides, he hated bleeding: 
But left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Cassarcan fight, 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

! for a throat like huge ]Mons-mog, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlaurig's banner; 

J4» 



2S2 T HE POETIC A L WORKS OF 

Heroes and bevoinos commix, 
All ill the field of politics, 

To wiu immortal honour. 

M'Murdo^ and his lovely spouse, 

(Th' oiiamour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the loves and graces : 
She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
AVhile he, all-conquering, play'd his part 

Among their wives and lasses. 

Craigdarroch* led a light-arm'd corps. 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour, 

Like Hecla streainiug thunder : 
Glenriddel,-' skill'd in rusty coins, 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bar'd the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought. 
Redoubted 8taig* who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory : 
And Welsh/' who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, 
Iligh-wav'd his magnum-bonuni round 

With Cyclopean fury. 

jMiller brought up th' artillery ranks. 
The niany-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
"While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
'31id Lawson's*"' port intrench'd his hold. 

And threaten'd worse damnation. 

To these what Tory hosts oppos'd. 
With these what Tory warriors clos'd. 

Surpasses my descriving : 
Squadrons extended long and large. 
With furious speed rush to the charge, 

Like raging devils driving. J 

1 .Tolin M'Muiilo, Ksq., of Drumlaurig. - Fcrgusson of Craijidiirroch. 

* UiiUli'I of Kri!U>-Ciu-se. * I'rovost Sttii^ of Uuiii fries. 

6 SlicrilT Welsb. ^ A wiuo-meixhuut iu Dumfries. 



ROBERT BURNS. 283 

What verse can sino-, what prose narrate, 
The butcher deeds of bloody fote 

Amid this mighty tulzie ! 
Grim Horror grinn'd — pale Terror roar'd, 
As Murther at his thrapple shor'd, 

And hell mix'd in the brulzie. 

As highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift, 

Hurl down with crashing rattle : 
As flames among a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods ; 

Such is the rage of battle ! 

The stubborn Tories dare to die; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before the approaching fellers : 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers. 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, 
Departed Whigs enjoy the tight, 

And think on former daring : 
The mufiled murtherer^ of C'harles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls. 

All deadly gules it's bearing. 

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 

Bold Scrimgeour'' follows gallant Grahame,* 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Montrose ! 
Now death and hell engulph thy foes, 

Thou liv'st on high for ever !) 

Still o'er the field the combat burns, 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But fate the word has spoken : 

The eX(Tu(ion('r of Cliailes I. was masked. 2 gci-imgeour, Ixird Duudet*. 

Gialiame, Marquis of Montrcse. 



284 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Foi' woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas ! can do but what they can ! 

The Tory ranks are broken. 

that my een were flowing burns, 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might greet, that I might cry. 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 

And furious ^Yhigs pursuing ! 

What Whig but melts for good Sir James ! 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor ! 
N'ot Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! 
And Ilopeton falls, the generous brave ! 

And Stewart,^ bold as Hector. 

Thou, I'itt, shalt rue this overthrow ; 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe ; 

And Melville melt in wailing ! 
How Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing, Prince, arise. 

Thy power is all prevailing ! 

For your poor friend, the Bai'd, afar 
He only hears and sees the war, 

A cool spectator purely; 
So, when the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chirps securely. 

1 Stewart of IlillsiUe. 



ROBERT BURNS. 285 



ON CAPTAIX GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH 
SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OP THAT KINGDOM. 

[This " fine, fat, fodgel wight" was a clever man, a skilful antiquary, and fond of wit 
and wine. lie was well acquainted with heraldry, and was conversant with the weapons 
and the armour of his own and other countries. He found his way to Friars-Carse, in the 
Vale of Nith, and there, at the social "hoard of Glenriddel,'' for the first time saw Burns. 
The Englishman heard, it is said, with wonder, the sarcastic sallies and eloquent Inirsts 
of the inspired Scot, who, in his turn, surveyed with wonder the remarkable corpulence, 
and listened with pleasure to the independent sentiments and humorous turns of con- 
versation in the joyous Englishman. This Poem was the fruit of the interview, and it is 
said that Grose regarded some passages as rather personal.] 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's; 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : 
A ehiel's amang you takin' notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it ! 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 

Upon a fine, fat, fodgol wight, 

0' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, boulet-baunted biggin, 

Or kirk deserted hj its riggin, 

It's ten to one ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' deils, they say, L — d save's ! colleaguiu' 

At some black art. 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer, 

Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamour. 

And you deep read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'il quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b s ! 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled; 



286 THE POETICAL AV R K S OF 

But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 

And ta'en the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets, 
Wad baud the Lothians three in tackets, 

A towmont guid ; 
And pan-itch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 

Afore the flood. 

Of Eve's fii-st fire he has a cinder; 
Auld Tubal-Cain's fire-shool and fender; 
That which distinguished the gender 

0' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch o' Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye, he'll shape you aif, fu' gleg, 
The cut of Adam's philibeg : 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll proA'e you fully, 
It was a faulding-^ joc-teleg, 

Or lang-kail gully. — 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meiklo glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wi' him; 
And port, port ! shine thou a wee. 

And then ye'll see him ! 

Now by the powr's o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chiel, Grose I — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose. 

They sair misca' thee; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose 

Wad say. Shame fa' thee ! 



EGBERT BURNS. 287 



WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER, ENCLOSING A LETTER TO 
CAPTAIN GROSE. 

[Burns wrote out some nntiquarian and legendary memoranda, respecting certain ruins 
in Kj'le, and enclosed tliem in a sheet of a paper to Curdonnel, a northern antiquary. 
As his mind teemed with poetry he could not, as he afterwards said, let the opportunity 
pass of sending a rhyming inquiry after his fat friend, and Cardonnel spread the condoling 
inquiry over the North — 

"Is lie slain by Highlan' bodies? 
And eaten like a wether-haggis?"] 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

Igo and ago, 
If he's aiuang his friends or foes ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he south or is he north ? 

Igo and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highlan' bodies ? 

Igo and ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ? 

Igo and ago. 
Or haudin' Sarah by the wame? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the L — d be near him ! 

Igo and ago, 
As for the deil, he daur na steer him ! 
Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit the enclosed letter, 

Igo and ago, 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo and ago. 
The very stanes that Adam bore, 

Iram, coram, dago. 



288 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

So may ye get in silacl possession, 
Igo and ago, 

The coins o' Satan's coronation I 

Irani, coram, dago. 



TAM 0' SIIAXTER. 



"Of browiiys and of bo_s;ilis full is this bxikc." — Oawin Douglas. 
[This a AVest-country legend, embellishod by genius. No other Poem in our language 
disphiys sueli variety of power, in the siime number of lines. It was written as an indu^■l^ 
ment to Grose to admit Alloway-Kirk into his work on the Antiquities of Scotland; and 
written with suoh ecstasy, that the poot shed tears in the moments of composition. The 
walk in which it was conceived, on the braes of Kllisland, is held in remembrance in tlio 
vale, and pointed out to poetic inquirers: while the scene where the poem is laid — the 
crumbling ruins— the place where the chapman perished in the snow — the tree on which 
tlie poor motlier of Mungo eiiilod her sorrows — the cairn where the murdered child was 
found by the hunter.s — and the old bridge over which Maggie bore her astonished master 
w hen all hell was in pursuit, are first-rate objects of inspection and inquiry in the ■' Land 
of liurns." "In the inimitable tiile of Tarn o' Shanter," says Scott, ••Hums has left us 
sutVicient evidenc(i of his ability to combine the ludicrous with the awful, and even the 
liorrible. No poet, with the exception of Shakspeare, ever possessed the power of e.xciting 
the most varied and discoi-dant emotions with such rapid transitions."] 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy ncebors neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak' the gate; 
While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
An' gettiu' fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scot,s miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, 
That lie between us and our haine, 
^^'here sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Ciathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 



R B E 11 T BURN S. 289 

T:iin ! liadst tliou but boon sao wise, 

As ta'on thy ain wife Kate's atlvk'c ! 

8hc tauld thee wool thou was a skolhnn, 

A blothoriiig, bUistoriiijj;, clniiikoii blolluui; 

That IVac Novoiiibor till Ootobor, 

Ae luarket-day thou wasua sober; 

That ilka nieldor, \vi' (he millei-, 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 

That ov'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 

The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 

That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 

Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 

She prophesy'd, that late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Poon ; 

Or oatoh'd wi' warloeks in the mirk, 

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle (hunos ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
IIow mony lengthen' d sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 
But to our tale : — Ae market night. 
Tarn had got ])lantod unco right; 
Fast by an ingle bleezing fmoly, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; 
Tani lo'od hinr like a vera brither; 
They had been fou' for weeks thegithcr ! 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious; 
"Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious; 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus :' 
The storm without might rair and rustle — 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 



1 VARIATION. 

The rricket rnisod its chcerlna cry, 
The kittluu clms'd its tail in joy. 
25 



290 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Care, mad to see a uian sac happy, 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy ! 
As bees flee hame wi' hides o' treasure. 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 

You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;. 

Or like the snow falls in the river, 

A moment white — then melts for ever; 

Or like the borealis race. 

That flit ore you can point their place ; 

Or like the rainbow's lovely form 

Evanishing amid the storm. 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 

The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 

And sic a night he taks the road in 

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

' The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The De'il had business on his hand. 

"Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 

A better never lifted leg, 

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 

Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 

Whiles holding fast bis guid blue bonnet; 

Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 

Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 

Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 

Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 

Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. — 



EGBERT BURNS. 291 

By this time he was cross the foord, 
Whare in the suaw the chapman smoor'd j 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Where drunken Charhe brak's neck-bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
AVhere hunters t'aud the niurdcr'd bairn j 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Where Mungo's mither hang'd hcrsel'. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn ! 

What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 

Wl' tippenny, we fear nae evil; 

Wi' usiiuabae we'll face the devil ! 

The swats sae rcam'd in Tammie's noddle. 

Fair play, he car'd nae deils a boddlc. 

liut Maggie stood right sair astouish'd, 

'Till, by the heel and hand admonish' d, 

She ventur'd forward on the light; 

And wow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 

Warlocks and witches in a dance; 

Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 

But life and mettle in their heels : 

A winnock-bunker in the east. 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 

To gie them music was his charge; 

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl. 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 

Cofiins stood round, like open presses; 

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses : 



292 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

And by some devilish cantrip slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light — 
By which heroic Tarn Avas able 
To note npon the haly table, 
A murderer's bancs in gibbet aims; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; 
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his aiu son o' life bereft. 
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft •} 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu'. 
Which ev'n to namo wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowi-'d, amaz'd, and curious, 

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 

The piper loud and louder blew ; 

The dancers (juick and (juicker flew ; 

They reel'd, they set, they cross' d, they cleekit, 

'Till ilka carlin swat and reckit, 

And coost her duddies to the wark, 

And linkct at it in her sark ! 

Now Tarn, Tarn ! had thae been queans 
A' plump and strapping, in their teens; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flauuen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen, 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 



1 VARIATION. 

Throo lawyers' tongues turn'ii inside out, 
Wi' lies seam'd like a begftnr's clout ; 
And priests' hearts rotten black as muck, 
Lay stinking vile, iu every ueuk. 



ROBERT BURNS. 293 

But wither' d beldams, auld and droll, 
lligwoodie hags, wad spean a foal, 
Lowping ati' flinging on a cummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' brawlic, 
There was a winsome wench and walie, 
. That night enlisted in the core, 

(Lang after kenu'd on Carrick shore; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And porish'd mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the coiintry-side in fear.) 
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, 
That, while a lassie, she had worn, 
In longitude tho' sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. — 

Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches). 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun cour j 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was and Strang,) 
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch' d, 
And thought his very een enrich'd; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain. 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main : 
'Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark !" 
And in an instant all was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their bykc ; 
25 » 



-0 I T 11 E r !•: T I C A L AV 11 K S OF 

As open ])iis.sii''s mortiil i'oos, 

"Wlien, pop ! .she starts bolbre tlieir nosoj 

As eager runs the market-crowd, 

When "Cateh the thief!" rcsonnds alond ; 

So IMaugie rnns, the witches follow, 

AVi' niony an eldritch screech and hollow. 

Ah, Tani ! Ah, Tani ! thou'll got thy fairiu' ! 

In hell they'll roast thee like a hcrriu' ! 

In vain thy Kate awaits thy coniin' ! 

Kate soon will be :,i woefu' woman T 

Now do thy speedy utmost, Mcg^ 

And win the kcy-stane^ of the brig; 

'J'here at them thou thy tail may toss, 

A running stream they darena cross 1 

But ore the key-stane she could make, 

The iient a tail she had to shake ! 

For Nannie, far before the rest, 

Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 

jVnd ili'w at Tarn wi' furio\is ettle; 

But little wist she IMaggie's mettle — 

Ae spring brought off her master hale, 

Inil lel't behind hei' aiu gray tail : 

The carlin claught her by the rump, 

And left poor 3Iaggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth sliall read, 
Ilk man anil mother's son, take hei'd ; 
AVhene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your n\iiid, 
Thiidv ! ye may buy the joys o'er dear — 
llemembor Tarn o' Shantcr's mare. 



1 It is II woll-known fact, ihiit witolios, or any evil siiirlts, liavo no power to follow a poor 
wi^ht any furUior than tlio iniaillo ofllu' noxt running; stroani. It may be proper like- 
wise to mention to tho lienijjliteil traveller, that when he falls in with hiyh-f. whatever 
danger there may bo iu his going forward, tlieio is niueh more ha/.an.l in turning baek. 



ROBERT BURNS. 295 



ADDHESS OF BEELZEBUB TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE 
HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 

[This Poem made its first appearance, ns I was assured by n)y friend tlio late Thomas 
Pringle, in the Scots Maf;azine, for February, ISIS, and was printed from the oi'ifiinal in 
the handwriting of Burns. It was headed tlius, "To the Kij;ht Honourable the Earl of 
Urcadalbme, President of the Uight Honourable and Honourable the Hi{;lilaud Society, 
which met on the 23d of May last, at the ShaUspeare. Covent Garden, to concert ways and 
means to frustrate the desi(;ns of four hundred Highlanders, who, as the Society were in- 
formed by Mr. M , of A s, were so audacious as to attempt an escape from their 

lawful lairds and masters, whoso property they were, by emigrating from tlie lands of 
Mr. Macdonald, of Glengarry, to the wilds of Canada, in search of that fantastic thing — 
Liberty." The Poem was communicated by liurns to his friend Kankiue of Adam Hill, 
iuAyrshire.] 

Long life, my Lord, an' health be yours, 
Unskaith'd by hunger'd Highland boors j 
Lord grant nae duddie desperate beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
May twin auld Scotland o' a life 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith, you and A s were right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight; 

I doubt na ! they wad bid nae better 

Then let them ance out owre the water; 

Then up amang the lakes and seas 

They'll mak' what rules and laws they please ; 

Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 

May set their Highland bluid a ranklin' ; 

Some Washington again may head them, 

Or some Montgomery fearless lead them, 

Till God knows what may be effected 

When by such heads and hearts directed — 

Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 

May to Patrician rights aspire ! 

Nae sage North, now, nor sager Saekville, 

To watch and premier o'er the pack vile. 

An' whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 

To bring them to a right repentance, 

To cowe the rebel generation. 

An' save the honour o' the nation ? 

They an' be d d ! what right hae they 

To meat or sleep, or light o' day ? 



296 THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

Far less to riches, pow'r, or freedom, 

33ut what your lordship likes to gie them ? 

But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear ! 

Your hand's owre light on them, I fear ; 

Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 

I canna' say but they do gaylies ; 

They lay aside a' tender mercies, 

An' tirl the hallions to the birses ; 

Yet while they're only poind't and herriet. 

They'll keep their stubborn Highland spirit; 

But smash them ! crash them a' to spails ! 

An' rot the dyvors i' the jails ! 

The young dogs, swinge them to the labour; 

Let wark an' hunger mak' them sober ! 

The hizzies, if they're aughtlins fawsont. 

Let them in Drury-lane be lesson'd ! 

An' if the wives an' dirty brats 

E'en thigger at your doors an' yetts, 

riaifan wi' duds an' grey wi' beas', 

Frightin' awa your deuks an' geese, 

Get out a horsewhip or a jowler. 

The laugest thong, the fiercest growler, 

An' gar the tatter' d gypsies pack 

AVi' a' their bastards on their back ! 

Go on, my Lord ! I lang to meet you. 

An' in my house at hame to greet you ; 

Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, 

The benmost neuk beside the ingle. 

At my right han' assign' d your seat 

'Tween Herod's hip an' Polycrate, — 

Or if you on your station tarrow, 

Between Almagro and Pizarro, 

A seat Fm sure ye're weel deservin't; 

An' till ye come — Your humble servant, 

Beelzebub. 
June \&t, Anno Mundi 5790. 



ROBERT BURNS. 297 



TO JOHN TAYLOR. 

[Runis. it appears, was. in one of his excursions in rerenne matters, likely to be detained 
at AVimloi-khead: the roads were slippery with ice, his mare kept her feet with difficulty, 
and all the blacksmiths of the Tillaj;e were pre-engaged. To Mr. Taylor, a person of in- 
fluence in the place, the poet, in despair, addressed this little Poem, begging his inter- 
ference: Taylor spoke to a smith; the smith flew to his tools, sharpened or frosted the 
shoes, and it is said lived for thirty years to boast that he had '-never been well paid but 
ance, and that was by a poet, who paid him in money, paid him in drink, and paid him 
in ver.se."] 

"With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo weary flying, 
Through frosty hills the journey lay, 

Ou foot the way was plying. 

Poor slip- shod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 

To get a frosty calker. 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work, 

Threw by his coat and bonnet, 
And did Sol's business in a crack ; 

Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod' — 
I'll pay you like my master. 

Egbert Burns. 
Ramages, 3 d'doclc, (jio date.') 



LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 

[The poet communicated this " Lament" to his friend, Dr. Moore, in February, 1791, but 
it was composed about the close of the preceding year, at the request of Lady AVinifred 
Maxwell Constable, of Terreagles, the last in direct descent of the noble and ancient 
house of Ma.xwell, of Nithsdale. Burns expressed himself more than commonly pleased 
with this composition; nor was he unrewarded, for Lady Winifred gave him a valuable 
snuff-box, with the portrait of the tinfortunate JIary on the lid. The bed still keeps its 
place in Terreagles, ou which the queen slept as she was on her way to take refuge with 
her cruel and treacherous cousin, Elizabeth; and a letter from her no less unfortunate 
grandson, Charles the First, calling the Maxwells to arm in his cause, is preserved in the 
family archives.] 

Now Nature han2;s her mantle 2;reen 



On every blooming tree, 



'^ 



298 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

And spreads hei* sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streaiuSj 

And glads the azure skies; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis wild wi' mony a note 

Sings drowsy day to rest: 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae ; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang ! 

I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

"Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn. 

As blythc lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sov'reign o' Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman ! 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword 

That thro' thy soul shall gae ! 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 



ROBERT BURNS. 299 

My son ! my sou ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend 

Remember him for me ! 

! soon, to me, may summer suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flow'rs that deck the spring 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



THE WHISTLE. 



[•'As the authentic prose history," says Burns, "of the 'AVhlstle' is curious, I shal 
here give it. In tlie train of Anno of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with oui 
James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and great 
prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony whistle, which at 
the commencement of the orgies he laid on the table, and whoever was the last able to 
blow it, everybody else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the 
whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a 
single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, JIoscow, Warsaw, and several of 
the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scotch Bacchanalians to the alterna- 
tive of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. After many over- 
throws on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Kobert Lawrie, of Max- 
welton, ancestor of the present worthy baronet of that name; who, after three days and 
three nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, 
'And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill.' 

" Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost the whistle to Walter 
Riddel, of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's, — On Friday, the Ifith of 
October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the whistle was once more contended for, as related in the 
ballad, by the present Sir Kobert of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel, 
lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who won the whistle, and in whose 
fumily it had continued; and Alexander Fergusson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, likewise 
descended of the great Sir Robert ; which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours 
of the field." 

The jovial contest took place in the dining-room of Friars-Carse, in the presence of the 
B:ir<l, who drank bottle and bottle about with them, and seemed quite disposed to take up 
the conqueror when the day dawned.] 

I SING of a whistle, a whistle of worth, 
I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North, 



300 THE r E T I C A L WO 11 K S OF 

Was brought to the court of our tjood Scottish Iviiig, 
Aud long with this whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda/ still rueiiig the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
" This whistle's your challenge — to Scotland get o'er, 
And drink them to hell, Sir! or ne'er see uie more!" 

Old poets liavc sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell; 
The son of great Loda was con((ucror still. 
And blew on his whistle his re(juieni shrill. 

Till Kobert, the Lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
■ He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd; 
Which now in his house has for ages reniaiu'd; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

" By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,^ 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier", no speech would pretend, 

]5ut he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his friend, 



1 See OsKiiin's Cario-tliura. 

2 See Johuson's Tour to tho Ilobriuos. 



ROBEKT BURNS. 301 

Said, toss down tlic whistle, tlio prize of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame 

Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day; 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wisli'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 

And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy; 

In the bands of old i'riendship and kindred so set, 

And tbe bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Plujebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was ((uite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd find them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, 
A'Vhen gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red. 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage. 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage; 
A higli-ruling Elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
]kit who can with fate and quart-bumpers contend? 
Though fate said — a hero shall perish in light; 
So up rose bright Pha^bus — and down fell the knight. 

Next up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink ; — 
*' Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sink ; 
]]ut if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 
2ft 



302 T II E POETICAL WO K K S OF 

" Thy lino, tliat have stniji>;l('(l for fi-eedoin with I5ruce, 

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; 

The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day !" 



ELF/iY ON MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO. 

[This boiiulirul iiml iicciuniilisliiul l;nly, tlio hoiivoiily lUinu't, as lUirns loved to cull her, 
was dauglitur to thu odd and tho elej;ant, tho clever and the whimsical Lord Monhoddo. 
" 111 doiiu'stic circumstances," says Itohert Chambers, " Monboddo was particularly unfor- 
tunate. His wife, a very beautiful woman, died in child-bed. His son, a promising boy, 
in whoso education he took groat delight, was likewise snatched from his afrection.s by a 
premature death ; and his second dau;j;hter, in per.sonal loveliness one of the first wnnicu 
of the age, was cut olf by consumption, when only twonty-fivo years old." Her uiiine 
was lOli/.abeth.J 

LiFF, ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
As iMiruet, lovely from her native skies; 
Nor envious death so triuinph'd in a blow, 
As that which laid th' uccomplish'd Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set! 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, 
■ As by his noblest work, the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore, 
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens; 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and ru.shes stor'd ; 
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens, 

To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumb'rous pride Avas all their worth, 

Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ? 
And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, 

And not a muse in honest grief bewail ? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride. 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres; 



R 1? E 11 T BURNS. 303 

But like the sun cclips'd :it moniiim; tide, 
Thou left'st us dai'lvliug iu a workl uf tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to 2;rief and care; 

So doek'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree; 
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 



LAMENT FOR JAMKS, KARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

[liui'iis lamoiid'cl the ilciilli of this kind and accomiilislieil iiolilcnian witli iiiclimclmly 
siiKvrity : lie morrovor niinu'd ono of liis sons fur liiiii : ho wont into uiourninf; whoii ho 
lioiinl of Lis ili'ath, and lio sun.i; of liis merits in a strain notdostinod soon to loso Iho place 
it has taken anion;; vei'ses which reeoi-d the names of tlie noble and the generous. Ilo 
died January .'30, 1791, in tlio forty-second year of his age. James Cunnint;ham was suc- 
ceeded in his title by his brother, and with him expired, in 179ti. the last of a race, wliose 
name is intimately connected with the History of Scotland, from the days of Malcolm 
Caumoro.] 

The wind blew hollow frae the lulls, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's wiuding stream : 
Beneath a craggy steep, a bard. 

Laden with years and mcikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'cn. 

lie lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was niould'ring down with years; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

II is hoary check was wet wi' tears; 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp. 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

" Ye scattcr'd birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay. 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 



30 1 THE POETIC A L AV 11 K S OF 

But noclit ill nil revolving; time 
Can gladiici^s bring again to me. 

" I am a betuling aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and rain ; 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hold of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae siiumer sun exalt my bloom j 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithcrs plant them in my room. 

"I've seen sae mony chaiigefu' years j 

On earth I am a stranger grown j 
I wander in the ways of uicn. 

Alike unknowing and unknown : 
ITnheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 

I bear alane my lade o' care. 
For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

]jie a' tlnit would my sorrows share. 

" And last (the sum of a' my griefs I) 

JMy noble master lies in clay ; 
The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride ! his country's stay — 
In weary being now I pine. 

For a' the life of life is dead. 
And hope has left my aged ken, 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

The voice of woe and wild despair j 
Awake ! resound thy latest lay — 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend. 

That fillcst an untimely tomb. 
Acee])t this tribute from the bard 

Though brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. 

" In poverty's low barren vale 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round ; 



R B E 11 T BURNS. 305 

Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou fouud'st me, like the morning sun, 

That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless bard and rustic song 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

'■'■ Oh ! why has worth so short a date ? 

While villains ripen gray with time ; 
Must thou, the noble, gon'rous, great. 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
Why did I live to see that day ? 

A day to me so full of woe ! — 
had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low. 

" The bridegroom may forget the bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
Eut I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me I" 



LINES SENT TO SIR JOHN WIIITEFOORD, BART., OF 
WIIITEFOORD. 

AVITH THE FORECOING POEM. 

fSii- .Tnhn Whitcfoord, a name of old standing in Ayrshire, inherited the lovo of hia 
fiimily for literature, and interested himself early in the fame and fortunes of Uurns.l 

Tiiou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st. 
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, 
To thee this votive offering I impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The friend thou valuedst, I, the patron, lov'd ; 
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. 
We'll mourn till wo too go as he has gone, 
And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. 
26* 



300 THE POETICAL W 11 K S OF 

ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, 

ON ri!()\VNIN(; Ills BUST AT KI>NAM ^VITU DAYS. 

['■ Lmd Hiu-lmn liiis tin' plcasuio to iiivilc Mr. Burns to iiinkr ono at (ho roroimtioii of 
tl\() bust of Thomson, on Kilimiii llill, on tho 'J'id of Scptonilior : for whicluhiy ju'rhniis his 
innsii miiy inspiro an oilo suilcil to tho occasion. Suppose Mr. Hums .slioulii, loavinj;- llie 
IS'ilh, j;o across (lie country, ami nicot the Twoed at tho nearest point from his farm, and, 
wanderinij nlonn tlie pastoral hanlis of Thomson's pure parent stream, catch inspiration 
iu the devious walli, (ill he finds hnrd Ihiohan siltini; on the ruins of Drybur^h. There 
tho Comuiondator will (jive him n hearty welcome, and try to lij;ht his lamp at tho pure 
flame of native (jcnius, upon the altar of Caledonian virtue." Such was the invitation of 
the Karl of Ituchan Co Hurns. To rc([uesi the poet to lay down his sickle when his harvest 
was half reapinl, and traverse one of the wildest and most untrodden ways in Scotland, 
for the purpose of looUiu}; at tho fantastic coronation of tho bad bust of an excellent poet, 
was worthy of liOrd liuchan. Tho jioor bard maiio answer, that a week's absence in tho 
middle of his harvest was a step he durst not venture upon — but he sent this I'ocni. 

The poet's manuscript affords tho followinj; interestini; variations: — 

"While cold-eyed Spring, ft virj;in coy,. 

Vlnfolds her verdant mantle sweet, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic juy, 

A carpet for her youthful feet: 

'• While Sunnuor, with a matron's gr.aco, 

AValUs stately in tho coolin;; shade, 
And oft deli,i;htcd loves to truce 

The proijress of the spiky blade ; 

"■While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

With ajre's hoary honours clad, 
Surveys, with selfapprovini; mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed. "J 

WiilliV, virii'iii 8]irini;', bv 1'](1imi's Hood, 

rntoUls hor teiulei' iiKiiitle tii'oon, 
Or pranks tho sod in fi'olio mood, 

Or tiiiu's yl'jolian stfuiiis between : 

A\ li'de Sniiinier, witli a matron li'raee, 
Retreats to Pryburgli's coolinii' shade, 

Yet ot't, deliiihted, stops to trace 
The progress of the s})iky blade : 

While Antnmn, benefactor kind, 

J{y Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self-approvina; mind. 

Each creature on liis bounty fed : 

WhiK^ iiKniiac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 



K r. ]•; 11 T V. u R N s. 307 

Rousiiii;' the turbid torrent's nmr, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 

So long, sweet I'oet of the year ! 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



TO ROBKllT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRAY. 

[rty tills I'oem Burns prepared the way for his luiinlil<> r('i|iit'st to be reiiiovod to 
a district more mojerato in its IhiuihIs tliMii one wliicli exteiiiled over ten country 
parishes, and exposed him both to fiiti};uo and expense. Tliis wish was expressed in 
pro.iio. and was in duo time attended to, lor li'iiilray was a {lenlhsniim at once kind and 
oousidcrate.] 

Late crippl'd of an arm, and m)V/ a leg. 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg : 
Dull, listles-s, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest;) 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 
(It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tnU',) 
And hear him curse the light he fii'st survey'd. 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade ? 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature ! I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain : 
The lion and the bull thy care have found. 
One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground : 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
The envcnom'd wasp, victorious, guards his cell; 
, Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour, 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and jKiwer; 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles insure j 
The cit and polecat stink, am] are secure; 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug. 
The priest and hedgehug in their robes arc snug; 
Ev'u silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Iler tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and dtirts ; — 
But, oh ! thou bitter stepmother and htird. 
To thy poor fenceless, naked child — the Bard ! 



308 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

A thing unteachable iu world's skill, 
And half an idiot too, more helpless still ; 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
No 'horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich dullness' comfortable fur; — 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 
He bears the unbroken blast from every side. 
Yampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics ! — appall'd I ventui'e on the name. 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame: 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ! 
He hacks to teach, tlicy mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 

By blockheads' daring into madness stung; 

His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 

By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear: 

Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in the unequal strife, 

The hapless poet flounders on through life ; 

Till, fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 

And fled each muse that glorious once inspir'd, 

Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age. 

Dead, even resentment, for his injur' d page. 

He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd, 
For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast : 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone. 
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's sou. 

dullness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter' d haven of eternal rest! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
\Yith sober selfish ease they sip it up ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 309 

Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder " some folks" do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope. 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear. 
And just conclude that " fools are fortune's care." 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks. 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train. 

Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain ; 

In equanimity they never dwell. 

By turns in soaring heav'n or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears. 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
! hear my ardent, grateful, sel6sh pray'r ! 
Fintray, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath. 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRAY. 

ON RECEIVIXG A FAVOUn. 

[Oraliam of Fintrny not only olitnined for the poet the appointment in the Excise, 
■which, while he lived in Edinhui-fjh, he desired, hut he also removed him, as he wished, 
to a better district; and when imputations were thrown out against liis loyalty, he 
defended him with olistinate and successful eloquence. Fintray did all that was done to 
raise liurns out of the toiling humility of his condition, and enable him to serve the 
muse without fear of want.] 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns ; 



SIO T II K POKTICAL WORKS OP 

Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The i;ift still dearer, as the giver, you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! 
And all ye many sparkling stars of night ; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace; 
Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres, 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 



A VISION. 



[This Vision of T/iborty ilesceiiilod on Hums anionu; the magnifioont ruins of the Col- 
lege of Lincliulen, which stand on the junction of the CluJen and the Nilh, a short milo 
above Dumfries, lie gave \is the Vision ; pcM'haps, he dared not in those yeasty times 
venture on the song, which his secret visitant poured from her lips. The scene is chieHy 
copied from nature : the swellings of the Nitli. the bowlings of the fox on the hill, and the 
cry of the owl, unite at times with the natural beauty of the spot, and give it life and 
voice. These ruins were a favourite haunt of the poet.] 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa' -flower scents the dewy air, 

Where th' hmvlot mourns in her ivy bower, 
And tells the midnight moon her care ; 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 

The stars they shot along the sky; 
The fox was howling on the hill. 

And the distant erhoiiig glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path. 

Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's. 
Hastening to join the sweeping Nith,^ 

Whose di.-'tant roaring swells and fa's. 

The cauld blue iu)rth was streaming forth 

Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ; 
Athort the lift they start and shift. 

Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 

VARIVTIOV. 

1 To join you river on the Strath. 




r'^(j/ 



i^ly 



^^/Y'//- 






ROBERT BURNS. 311 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
And, by the moonbeam, shook to see 
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.^ 

Had I a statue been o' stane, 

His darin' look had daunted me; 
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 

The sacred posy — ' Libertie !' 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might rous'd the slumb'ring dead to hear; 

But, oh ! it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear. 

He sang wi' joy the former day, 

, He weeping wail'd his latter times; 
But what he said it was nae play, — 
I winna ventur't in my rhymes. 



TO JOHN MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTY, 

ox HIS BIRTn-DAY. 

[.Fohn Maxwell of Tevraiighty and Munshes, to whom these verses are addressed, though 
desrended from the Earls of Nithsdale, cared little about lineajre, and claimed merit only 
fi'om a judgment sound and clear — a knowledge of business which penetrated into all the 
concerns of life, and a sl<ill in handling the most difficult subjects, which was considered 
unrivalled. Under an austere manner, he hid much kindness of heart, and was in a fair 
■way of doing an act of gentleness when giving a refusal. lie loved to meet Burns: not 
Ihat he either cared for or comprehended poetry; but he was pleased with his knowledge 
of human nature, and with the keen and piercing remarks in which he indulged. lie 
was seventy-one years old when these verses were written, and survived the poet 
tvi-enty years.] 

Health to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief! 
Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf 

This natal morn; 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief, 

Scarce quite half worn. 



VARIATION. 



I Now looking over firth and fauld, 

Her horn the pale-fac'd Cynthia rear'd; 
When. lo, in form of minstrel auld, 
A stern and stalwart ghaist appear'd. 



312 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

This day thou metes three score eleven, 
And I can tell that huiinteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka Poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

"Will yet hestow it. 

If envious huckics view \vi' sorrow 

Thy leugthen'd days on this blest morrow. 

May desolation's laug-tccth'd harrow, 

Nine miles an hour. 
Rake them like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stourc — 

But for thy friends, and they are niony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonnie, 
May couthic fortune, kind and cannie, 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blythe and c'enings funny 

Bless them and thee ! 

Fareweel, auld birkie ! Ijord be near ye. 
And then the Deil he daur na steer ye ; 
Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye ; 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If niest my heart I dinna wear ye 

While Burns they ca' mc ! 
Dumfries, 18 Feb. 1792. 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 

AN OCCASIONAI, AnURKSS SPOKEN BY JIISS FONTKNIU.LE ON HER BENEFIT NIOIIT, 
Nov. 2li, 1792. 

[Miss li'oiitciu'llo was ono of tlio actrossiis whom Williamson, the ni.ntiHi;oi-, hrouglit for 
sovoral sen.soiiH to Dumfries : she was young nnil pretty, induljied in little levities of .speech, 
and rumour added, perhaps malielon.sly, levities of action. The Rights of Man had been 
advocated by I'aine, the Hif;hts of Woman by JIary Wolstonecroft, and nought was talked 
of, but the moral and political regeneration of the world. The lino 

" But truco with kings and trueo with constitutions," 
got an uncivil twist in recitation, from some of tho audience. The woi-ds were eagerly 
caught up, and had some his.ses bestowed on them.] 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things. 
The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 313 

While quacks of state must each produce his plan, 
And even children lisp the Rights of Man ; 
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, 
The llights of Woman merit some attention. 

First on the sexes' intermix'd connexion, 
One sacred Right of Woman is protection. 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate. 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of ftvte. 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form. 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm. 

Our second Right — but needless here is caution, 
To keep that right iuviolate's the fashion, 
Each man of sense has it so full before him, 
He'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis decorum. — 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time, when rough, rude man had naughty ways ; 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet. 

Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled; 
Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred — 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest. 
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest. 
Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration, 
Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear admiration ! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move; 
There taste that life of life — immortal love. — 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares — 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms. 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

But truce with kings and truce with constitutions. 
With bloody armaments and revolutions. 
Let majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah ! §a ira ! the majesty of woman ! 

27 



314 THE POETICAL WOKKS OF 



]\l N D Y 

ON A LADV FAMKl) FOU III'.U CArUICE. 

[Tlio homino of this vin\\i\i liimpoou wiis Mrs. UiiMol of Woodloiijli I'lvi-k : a liuly young 
niut ftay. much of a wit. ami .iiiiiu'ihiiif; of a inn'ti'ss. ami till llu- hour of his tU'ath tlie 
IVioml of Iturns hinisolf. She pulloil his ilispli'asuro on hor, it is said, by siuiliiijc more 
swwtly than ht> lil<od on somo "opauletti'd co.\comV)S," for so ho sometimes lU'signated 
oommissioiiod ollicors: tlio lady soou laii^hi'd him out of his mood. Wo owe to her pon 
an aofouiit of lior last iutcrviow with llu> poot, wiilton witli jjiroat lioaiily and tVolinj;.] 

llow cold is tluit bosom which folly oiioo fiivd, 

How p:\lo is that chock where the rousie lately lilisteiiM ! 

lliiw silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, 
llow thill is that oar which to flattery so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and aii>;uish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest atTection remov'd; 

llow doidily severer, ]Maria, thy fate, 

Thou diest unwept as thou livedst unlov'd. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call nt)t on you; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shcil not a tear: 
]>iit come all ye oilspring of Folly so true. 

And llowers let us cull for Maria's cold bier. 

We'll sc\irch through the garden ftu- each silly flower, 
We'll roam through the ftn-est for each idle weed ; 

l-Sut chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower. 

For lumc e'er a])prt)ach'd her but rued the rash deed. 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay; 

Hero Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen indignation shall dart on her pnn', 

Which spurning Contempt shall rctleem fi\im his ire. 

TITF. KlMTAl'H. 

Hero lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 

What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam : 

Want only of wisdom denied her resiM^'t, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



15 O 15 !■; U T 15 U U N S. SL'S 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPIIS TO IMAKIA. 

[M'illiiiinsoii, thy ;u-tni-, Colonel Miirdoimll, ruptniii (iillcspio, .•iiid .Mrs. HiiliU'l, hi'o llio 
rlinriicti'r.s wliji'h puss over the stngo in lliis Ktnin;,'o coniposilion : it is i>rinlcii IVoiii tho 
I'oi't's own niimuscrlpt, iind socnis a sort ol' outpouriiiR of wrath and (■ont('ni)>t, on por- 
tions who. in his oyos, f;avo thiMnsolvus airs bi'vond tlicir condition, or IlK'ir nu'rit.s. Tho 
vrv.'io of the l;nly i.s held up to contoinpt and lau};liti'r : tlio satirist Cfk-brntes hvv 

" .Mollny I'oiindliiif; fancii'S, stoliMi or strayed;" 
and has a passing Iiit at licr 

'• 81111 matchless tongue that crin([iiors all reply."] 

From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, 
Where intauiy witli sad repentaiieo dwells; 
Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast, 
And deal from iron hands the spare repast; 
Where truant 'prentices, yet younti; in sin, 
Blush at tiui curious stranger poejiing in ; 
Where slrumpets, relics of the druidcen rotir, 
Itesolve to drink, nay, half to whore, no more; 
Where tiny thieves not destiii'd yet to swing, 
IJeat hemp lor others, riper for the string : 
From these dire scenes my wretched liues I date, 
To tell Maria her Ivsopns' fate. 

" Alas ! I feel I am no actor here !" 

'Tis real hangmen real scourges bear ! 

Prepare, Maria, for a liorrid tale 

Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale; 

Will make thy hair, tlu)' erst from gipsy ])oird, 

])y barber woven, and l)y barber sold, 

Though twisted smooth with llany's nicest care. 

Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 

The hero of tho mimic scene, no more 

T start in Hamlet, in Odiello roai-; 

Or hanghty Chiel'tain, 'mid the din of arms, 

In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms; 

While sans culottes stoop up the niotmtain high, 

And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 

Blest Highland bonnet ! Once my proudest dress. 

Now prtmder still, Miiria's temples press. 

I see Iter wave thy towering plumes tifar, 

Aud call each coxcond) to the wordy war. 



310 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

I see lier face the first of Iroland's sons,^ 

And even ont-Iri.sli his Hibernian bronze; 

The crafty colonel' leaves the tartan'd lines, 

For other wars, where he a hero shines; 

The hopefnl youth, in Scottish senate bred, 

Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head ; 

Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to display 

That vcni, vidi, vici, is his way; 

The shrinking bard adowu the alley skulks, 

And dreads a meeting worse than Woolwich hulks • 

Though there, his heresies in church and state 

IMight well award him Muir and Palmer's fate : 

Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, 

And dares the "public like a noontide sun. 

(What scandal call'd Maria's janty stagger 

The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger, 

Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns' venom when 

He dips in gall unniix'd his eager pen, — 

And pours his vengeance in the burning line, 

AVho ehristen'd thus Maria's lyre divine; 

The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 

And even th' abuse of poesy abused ! 

Who call'd her verse, a parish workhouse made 

For motley fouudling fancies, stolen or stray'd ?) 

A workhouse ! ah, that sound awakes my woes, 
And pillows on the thorn my rack'd repose ! 
In durance vile here must I Avake and weep. 
And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep ; 
That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, 
And vermin'd gipsies litter'd heretofore. 

Wh}', Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on vagrants pour ? 

Must earth no rascal save thyself endure ? 

Must thou alone in guilt iuuuortal swell. 

And make a vast monopoly of hell ? 

Thou know'st, the virtues cannot hate thee worse, 

The vices also, nnist they club their curse ? 



1 Ocintaiu Gillespie. - Colonel JlacJouall. 



no BERT BURNS. 317 

Or must no tiny sin to otbcvs fall, 

Because thy guilt's supreme euougli for all ? 

Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares ; 

In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 

As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls. 

Who on my fair one satire's vengeance hurls? 

Who calls thee, pert, affected, vain co((uctte, 

A Tvit in folly, and a fool in wit ? 

Who says, that fool alone is not tliy due. 

And (juotcs thy treacheries to prove it (rue? 

Our force united on thy foes we'll turn. 

And dare the war with all of wuniuu born : 

For who can write and speak as thou and I ? 

My periods that deciphering defy, 

And thy still matchless tongue that conquers all reply. 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

[Tlioun'li Gilbert Burns 8ays there is some doubt of this Poem being by his brother, nnj 
thougih Kobert Chambers declares tliat lie "has scarcely a doubt that it is not by the Ayr- 
shire Hard," I must print it as his, fur I have no doubt on the subject. It was found 
among the papers of the poet, in his own handwriting: the second, tli(( fourth, and the 
concluding verses bear the Burns stamp, which no one has been successful in counter- 
feiting : they resemble the verses of Beattie, to which Chambers has compared them, as 
little as the cry of the eaglo resembles the chirp of the wren.] 

Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph rc.serv'd! 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or sunk encrv'd 

'Mang heaps o' claversj 
And och ! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd 

Mid a' thy favours ! 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alaug, 

To death or marriage ; 
Scarce aue has tried the sbcplicrd-sang 

]>ut wi' miscarriage ? 
27 « 



SIS THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Tti riouicr's craft Jock Milton tlirives; 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives; 
Wee Pope, tlic knurliu, 'till hiin rives 

Horatiau fame ; 
In thy sweet saug, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches 

0' heathen tatters; 
I pass by bunders, nameless "wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and Icar, 

Will nanc the Shepherd's whistle mair 

Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need ua jouk behint the hallan, 

A chiol sac clever; 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tuutallan, 

But thou's for ever ! 

Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines; 

Nae gowden stream tliro' myrtles twines, 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes ; 
Or trots by l)a7A']ly sliaws and braes, 

yVV hawthorns gray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' dav. 



ROBERT BURNS. 819 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; 
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

0' witchia' love; 
That charm that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 



SONNET, 

WRITTEN ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH OF JANUARY, 1793, THE BIRTHDAY OF THE 
AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK. 

[Rurns was fond of a saunter in a leafless wood, when the winter storm howled anion- 
the branches. These characteristic lines were composed on the morning of his birthday" 
with the Nith at his feet, and the ruins of Lincluden at his side: he is willing to accept 
the uulooked-for song of the thrush as a fortunate omen.] 

Sing on. sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough ; 

Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain: 

See, aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign. 
At thy blythe carol clears his furrow'd brow. 

So, in lone Poverty's dominion drear, 

Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

I thank Thee, Author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies ! 

Riches denied, Thy boon was purer joys. 
What wealth could never give nor take away. 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care. 

The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share. 



520 T II E r E T I C A L W R K S OF 



SONNET, ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ., OF 
GLENRIDDEL, 

April, 1794. 

[The dp.Tth of Glcnciiirn, who was his patron, and the death of Glenriddol, who was his 
friend, and had, while he lived at KUisland, been liis neighbour, weighed hard ou the 
mind of Burns, who, about this time, bejian to regard his own future fortune with more 
of dismay than of hope. lUddel united antiijuarian pursuits with those of literature, and 
experienced all the vulgar prejudices entertained by the peasantry against those who 
indulge in such researches. His collection of what the rustics of the vale called '-queer 
quairns and swine-troughs," is now scattered or neglected: I have heard a competent 
judge say, that they threw light ou both the public and domestic history of Scotland.] 

No more, ye warblers of the wood — no more ! 

Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul ; 

Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, 
More welcome were to me griin Winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes ? 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 

How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 
That strain flows round th' untimely tondj where Riddel lies. 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe ! 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on his bier : 
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer. 

Is in his "narrow house" for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet, 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 



IMPROMPTU, ON MRS. R 'S BIRTHDAY. 

[By compliments such as these lines contain, Burns soothed the smart wbicli his verses 
'•On a Lady lamed lor her Caprice'' intiictetl on the accomplished Mrs. Kiddel.] 

Old Winter, with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd, — ■ 
What have I done of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe '/ 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dretiry, slow; 
iMy dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeuy English, hanging, drowning. 



ROBERT BURNS. 321 

Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 

To counterbalance all this evil ; 

Give me, and I've )io more to ,say. 

Give me Maria's natal Jay ! 

That brilliant gift shall so enrich me. 

Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match mc; 

'Tis done ! says Jove ; so ends my story, 

And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



LIBERTY. 



A FRAGMENT. 



[Fragments of verse were numerous, Dr. Currie said, among the loose papers of the poet 
These lines formed the commencement of an ode commemorating the achievement of 
liherly for America, under the directing genius of Washington and Franklin.] 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
Thee, fam'd for martial deed and sacred song, 

To thee I turn with swimming cyes^ 
Where is that soul of freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead ! 

Beneath the hallow'd turf where Wallace lies ! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep j 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 

Is this the power in freedom's war, 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest bearing ! 



VERSES TO A YOUNG LADY. 



[This young Indy was the daughter of the poet's friend, Graham of Fintray; and the 
gift alluded to was a copy of George Thom.sion's Select Scottish Songs: a work which owes 
many attractions to the lyric genius of Burns.] 

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives. 
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joiu'd, 



322 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Accept the gift ; — tho' humble he who gives, 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful uiiud. 

So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast, 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among; 

But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 
Or Love ecstatic wake his seraph song I 

Or Pity's notes in luxury of tears. 

As modest Want the tale of woe reveals ; 

While conscious Virtue all the strain endears 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals. 



THE VOWELS. 



[Burns admired genius adorned by learning; but mere learning ■without genius he 
Always regarded as pedantry. Those critics who scrupled too much about words he 
called eunuchs of literature, and to one, who taxed him with writing obscure language 
in questionable grammar, he said, ■•Thou art but a Gretna-green match-maker between 
vowels and consonants!"] 

'TwAS where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd, 
, The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; 
Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws, 
And cruelty directs the thickening blows; 
Upon a time, Sir Abece the great. 
In all his pedagogic powers elate. 
His awful chair of state resolves to mount. 
And call the trembling vowels to account. — 

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight. 
But, ah ! deform'd, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head look'd backward on the way, 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted ai! 

Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous race 

The justling tears ran down his honest face ! 

That name ! that well-worn name, and all his own. 

Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! 

The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound 

Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound; 



ROBERT BURNS. 323 

Aud next the title followiug close behind, 
He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd. 

The cobweb' d gothic dome resounded Y ! 
In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply : 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground I 

In rueful apprehension enter'd 0, 

The wailing minstrel of despairing woe j 

Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert 

Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art ; 

So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U, 

His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast. 
The pedant in his left hand clutch'd him fast, 
In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right, 
Baptiz'd him en, and kick'd him from his sight. 



VERSES TO JOHN RANKINE. 

[With the " rough, rude, reacly-wittpcl R.ankine," of Adnin-hill, in Ayrshire, Burns kep^ 
ap a will o'-wispish .sort of a correspondence in rhyme, till the dny of his death : these 
communications, of which this is one, were sometimes graceless, hut .ilways witty. It is 
supposed that these Hues were suggested by FalstafT's account of his ragged recruits: — 
'•I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat!"] 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination. 
And thieves of every rank and station. 
From hiiu that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles in a halter : 
Asham'd himsel' to sec the wretches. 
He mutters, glowrin' at the bitches, 
" By G — d, I'll not be seen bohint them, 
Nor 'maug the sp'ritual core present them. 



324 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Without, at least, ac honest man, 

To grace this d — d infernal clan." 

By Adamhill a glance he threw, 

" L— d G — d !" quoth he, " I have it now, 

There's just the man I want, i' faith !" 

And quickly stoppit Raukiue's breath. 



ON SENSir.ILITY. 



TO MY DEAR AND MUCH HONOUUED FRIEiND, MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP. 

[These verses were occasioned, it is said, by some sentiments contained in a communica- 
tion from Mrs. Dunlop. That excellent lady was sorely tried witli domestic afflictions 
for a time, and to these he appears to allude ; hut he deadened the eflect of his sympathy, 
when he printed the stanzas in the Museum, changing the fourth line to, 

" Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell!" 
and so transferring the whole to another heroine.] 

Sensibility how charming, 

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell : 

But distress with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well. 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 
Blooming in the sunny ray: 
. Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, 

Telling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought, the hidden treasure 

Finer feeling can bestow; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure. 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



ROBERT BURNS. 325 

LINES SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD 
OFFENDED. 

[The too hospitable board of Mrs. Riddel occa.sioned those repentant strains: they were 
acoopted as they were meant by the party. The poet had, it seems, not only spoke of mere 
tjtles and rank with disrespect, but had allowed his tongue unbridled license of speech, 
on the claim of political importance, and domestic equality, which Mary Wolstonecroft 
and her followers patronized, at which Mrs. liiddel affected to be grievously olTended.] 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's w;iy 
The fumes of wine infuriate send; 

(Not moony madness more astray;) 
Who but deplores that hapless friend ? 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part, 
Ah, why should I such scenes outlive? 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY MISS FOXTENELLE ON HER 
BENEFIT NIGHT. 

[This addres.? was spoken by Miss Fontenelle, at the Dumfries Theatre, on the 4th of 
December, 1795.] 

Still anxious to secure your partial favour, ' 
And not less anxious, sure, this night than ever 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; 
So sought a Poet, roosted near the skies. 
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes; 
Said nothing like his works was ever printed; 
And last, my Prologue-business slyly hinted ! 
" INIa'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, 
" I know your bent— these are no laughing times : 
Can you— but, 3Iiss, I own I have my fears, 
Dissolve in pause — and sontiinental tears; 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence. 
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance ; 
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand, 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land?" 



28 



326 T il !■; POETICAL WORKS OF 

I could no iiuiro — askiiiicc the creature eyeing, 

D'ye think, said I, thi« face was made for crying? 

I'll laugh, that'8 poz — nay more, the world shall know it; 

And so your servant ! gloomy Master Poet ! 

Firm as my creed, Sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief, 

That Misery's another word for Grief; 

T also think — so may I be a bride ! 

That so much laughter, so much life cnjoy'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, 
^ Still vinder bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
I'o make three guineas do the work of five : 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch I 
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove; 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope — thy neck — 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 
Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf? 
Laugh at their follies — laugh e'en at thyself: 
]jearn to despise those frowns now so terrific, 
And love a kinder — that's your grand specific. 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise; 

And as M'e're merry, may we still be wise. 



ON SEEING MISS FONTHNKI.LE IN A FAYOUIUTE 
CIIAIIACTEK. 

I'riic n<iiiil looks and tho iint.unil arliivj; of !Mis.i Voiilciirllii iilciiscil otlicrs lis wi'll .-is 
lliiiMis. 1 know not to what clmnictcr in tlio ningo of hor pt'i-sonations be iiUinles : ^ho 
was a favourite ou thu Duuirries boards.] 

Sweet naivetd of feature, 

Simple, wild, enchanting elf. 
Not to thee, but thanks to nature, 

Thou art acting but thyself. 



ROBERT BURNS. 327 

Wert thou awkward, stifF, affected, 

Spurning nature, torturing art; 
Loves and graces all rejected, 

Then indeed thou'dst act a part. 

11. B. 



TO C IILORIS. 

[Chloris was a Nithsdalo beauty. Love and sorrow were stroiiKly min<rled in her early 
histciry : that she did not look so lovely in other eyes as she did in those of Burns is well 
known: but he had much of the taste of an artist, and admired the elegance of her 
form, and the harmony of her motion, as much as he did her blooming face and sweet 

voice.] 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse. 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms," 

Must bid the word adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower ; 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
Did nip a fairer flower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

Still much is left behind; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow, 

On conscious honour's part ; 
And, dearest gift of heaven below, 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste, 

With every muse to rove : 
And doubly were the poet blest, 

These joys could he improve. 



328 T HE-POETICAL WORKS OF 



POETICAL INSCRTPTIOX FOR AN ALTAR TO 
INDEPENDENCE. 

[It was the fashion of the feverish times of the French Revolution to plant trees of 
liberty, and raise altars to IndeiienJonce. Heron of Kerroughtree, a gentleman widely 
esteemed in Galloway, was about to engage in an election contest, and these noble lines 
served the purpose of announcing the candidate's sentiments on freedom.] 

Thou of an iudependent mind, 

With soul resolv'd, witli soul resign'd; 

Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave, 

Who wilt not be, nor have, a slave ; 

Virtue alone who dost revere, 

Thy own reproach alone dost fear, 

Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



THE HERON BALLADS. 

[ballad first.] 

[Tliis is the first of several party ballads which Burns wrote to serve Patrick Heron, 
of Kerroughtree, in two elections for the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, in which he was 
opposed, first, by Gordon of Balniaghie, and secondly, by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart. 
There is a personal bitterness in these lauiiioons, which did not mingle with tlie strains in 
■which the poet recorded the contest between Miller and Johnstone. They are printed hero 
as matters of poetry, and I feel sure that none will be displeased, and some will smile.] 

Whom will you send to London town, 

To Parliament and a' that ? 
Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that, 
Thro' Galloway and a' that ; 
Where is the laird or belted knight 
That best deserves to fa' that ? 

Wha sees Kerroiightree's open yett, 

And wha is't never saw that ? 
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met 
And has a doubt of a' that ? 

For a' that, and a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that, 
The independent patriot, 
The honest man, an' a' that. 



ROBERT BURNS. 329 

Tho' wit and worth in either sex, 
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that ; 
Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix, 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The independent commoner 
Shall he the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk. 

And it's against the law that; 
For why, a lord may be a gouk, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 

For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for. a' that ! 
A lord may be a lousy loun, 
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that. 

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, 

Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that ; 
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken, an' a' that. 

For a' that, an' a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we're not to be bought an' sold 
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that, 
Our representative to be. 

For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that, 
A House of Commons such as he. 
They would be blest that saw that. 



28' 



330 T 11 !•: V K T 1 c A r. w n K s of 

TJIE IIKKON BALLADS. 

[liAl.l.AD SKCONI).] 

I In (liis l.iilliKl Mio pui.t naflicM-H io^'rllirr, iifliT tlio iiiiunici- i>f " i'y\ Icl. iiK :\' (o tlu( 
liridiil," nil lliii Iciidiiin cli'ctcirs cif (lie Sti<«iii'ti-y, who licfru'ii(l<'(l Ili'i-im, iir uiiiinsccl hiiii; 
iiikI ilniWM duMi' juirli-jiits in the culdiir.s nl' li;;lit (ir (larlincss. iicnirilinn to thi' coniiilcxiim 
of llicli' iiollMcs. Ilo in ton sovci'o in most InsttmcoH, imd In soino lui is vcmoinous. On tin; 
Karl of (iiillowiiy's IHniily, ami on (lie Mnrnij'H of llrou>;liton nnd Cailllo, as well as on 
Husliby (if Tinwalilowns, lio pours his liotlcst saliin. l!nt wonls whicli aro unjust, or 
uniloKorvoil, fall olf their victims llUo riin ilnips IVoni ii wild dui'k's winj;. Tlio Murrays 
of llrounlitoii and Ciiillit^ liavo lonij; horni', finni Ihr vuln'ar, (ho stigma of treachi-ry to Iho 
cause of I'rinm Oharlos Stewart : fioni snrh infamy llie family is wholly free: the traitor, 
Murray, was of a rac^ti now oxtinel ; ami while he was lu'lrayinK thu eause in whieh so 
liiueh noble and gallant lilood was shed. Murray of l!ron;j,hlon and Caillie was iierformln;? 
the dulies of an honiuirahle and loyal man : he was, like his great-;;randson now. repre- 
senting Ids natives distriet in parliament.] 

'niM I'li-i'lCriOK. 

I''v, let lis a' to Kirkcudbri^lit, 

For thoi'o will be b'K^korin' IIkm-c ; 
V\)v iMtiri'iiy'.s' liglit liorso aro to iimsftM', 

And (), how llio liorocs will swoar I 
An' thoro will lie ill array coiiiiiiaiuler, 

Ami (utrdoii" the batth^ to win ; 
Like brothers tlicy'll stand l>v I'acli other, 

Sat^ knit- in alliaiUH' an' kin. 

An' there will be blaek-lippit Johnnie," 

The tone>tie o' the truni]) to them a'; 
An' he p't na hell lor his haddiii' 

The deil i;ets na jiistiee ava' ; 
An' there will be Keinjdeton's birkie, 

A boy no sat! black tit- the bane, 
Hnt, as I'or his line nabob tort tine, 

We'll e'en let the subject tilane. 

.\n' there will be \\'ii;toii's new sherill', 
Pame diistiee I'li' brawlie has sju'd, 

She's <;otten tlu' heart oi' a loishby, 

l>tit. Lord, what's become^ o' the head'/ 

An' there will 1k' Cardonoss,' J^^stjuire, 
Sac iiiit;ht,y iu Cardoness' eyosj 

^ ^lurray, of r.rou;Ahton and Cailllo. ' CJordon of llahna.slilp. 

^ llnshliy. of 'I'inwaM downs. * Maxwell, of Cardouess. 



R r. V. R T H U 11 N s. 331 

A wij;lit tluit will wcutlior (lamiiiition, 
For tlu> ilcvil the prey will despise. 

An' there will be Doiij^lusses' doughty, 

New christ'iiiiiijj ti)Wii.s iar and near; 
Abjurint;- their democrat doin<>;8, 

By ki.ssiiin' the — o' a peer; 
And there will bo Kennuiro'^ sae <i;cn'rous, 

Whose lionour is proof to the storm, 
To save them from stark reprobation, 

lie lent them his name to the iirm. 

But we winna mention Bodcast.lo,'' 

The body, c'cn let him escape I 
llo'd ventun^ the gallows for siller, 

An' 'twar na the cost o' the rape. 
An' where is our king's lord lieutenant, 

Sae fam'd lor his gratefu' return ? 
The billio is gettin' his ((uestions, 

To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 

Muirhead,* wha's as gudo as he's true; 
An' there will be Buittle's^ apostle, 

AVha's more o' the black than the bluej 
An' there will be folk from St. Mary's," 

A house o' great nuM'it and note. 
The deil ane but honours them highly, — 

The deil ane will gie theiu his vote I 

An' there will be wealthy young Richard,' 
Dame Fortune should lung by the neck ; 

For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing. 
His merit had won him respect: 

An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 
Tho' nabobs, yet nioa of the first. 



I Tlio DouRlasscs, ofOrcliJirdtowii niiil rnstle-Douglns. 
- (jlnrJoii, nfterwnrds Viscount Koiunoi'o. ' Ijiiurit', of lU'dciislli'. 

■• Mori'lioiid, Miiiisloi- of Urr. <> Tho Miiiint(>i' of Jiuitllc. 

D Karl of Selkirk's fiimily. ' Oswald, of Auchuucruivo. 



332 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

An' there will be Collieston's^ whiskers, 
Au' Quiutin, o' lads not the worst. 

An' there will be stamp-ofl&ce Johnnie/'^ 

Tak' tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
An' there will be gay Cassencarric, 

An' there will be gleg Colonel Tarn ; 
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree,* 

Whose honour was ever his law, 
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel. 

His worth might be sample for u'. 

An' can we forget the auld major, 

Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys, 
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other, 

Him only 'tis justice to praise. 
An' there Avill be maiden Kilkerran, 

And also Barskimming's gude knight, 
An' there will be roarin' IJirtwhi^tle, 

Wha luckily roars in the right. 

An' there, frac the Niddisdale borders, 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves; 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' Walie, 

That griens for the fishes an' loaves ; 
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall,* 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there, 
An' also the wild Scot of Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 

Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton, 

And hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! 
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 

In Sodom 'twould make him a king; 
An' hey for the sanctified M y. 

Our land who wi' chapels has stor'd; 
He founder'd his horse among harlots. 

But "ied the auld naia; to the Lord. 



1 Copland of Collieston and Blackwood. - .Tohn Syme. of the Stamp-office. 

3 Ileron, of Kerroughtiee. * Colonel Macdouall, of Lot;an. 



ROBERT BURNS. 333 

THE HERON BALLADS. 

[ballad third.] 

[This third and last ballad was written on the contest between Ilei-on and Stewart, 
wliirlv followed dose on that with Gordon. Heron carried the election, but was \uiseated 
bv the decision of a Committee of the House of Commons: a decision which it is said he 
took so much to heart that it ufTected his health, and shortened his life.] 

AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 

Tunc — " Bhj broom hesomn." 

Wha will buy my troggin, 

Fine election ware ; 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A' in high repair. 

Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There's a noble Earl's^ 

Fame and high renown 
For an auld sang — 

It's thought the gudes were stown. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth o' Broughton^ 

In a needle's ee ; 
Here's a reputation 

Tint by Balmaghie. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Hei'c's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald — ^ 

So was never worn. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 



1 The Earl of Galloway. 2 Murray, of Broughton and Caillie. 

3 Bushby, of Tinwald-downs. 



33-1 THE P E T I C A L W R K S F 

Here's its stuflf and lining, 

Cardoness'^ head ; 
Fine tor a sodger 

A' the wale o' )ead. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's a little wadset 
Buittle's'^ scrap o' truth, 

Pawn'd in a gin-shop 
Quenching holy drouth. 

Buy braw troggiu, &.G. 

Here's armorial bearings 
Frae the manse o' Urr;' 

The crest, an auld crab-apple 
Rotten at the core. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Satan's picture, 

Like a bizz;ird gled. 
Pouncing poor Redeastle,* 

Sprawlin' as a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 
Collieston'' can boast ; 

By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 

Buy braw troggiu, &e. 

Here is Murray's fragments 
0' the ten connnands; 

Gifted by black Jock* 

To get them aff his hands. 

]>uy braw troggiu, &e. 



1 Maxwell of Cardoness. 2 The Minister of Buittlo. 

3 Morohead, of Urr. < Laurio, of Hedoastle. 

6 Copland, of CoUicston aud Ulackwood. o John Bushby, of Tiuwald-downs. 



ROB E 11 T B U 11 N S. 335 

Saw yc e'er sic trog'i^iu? 
If to buy ye' re slack, 
Ilornic's turnin' cliapinan, 
He'll buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw tvoggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee ; 
Wha wants troggiu 
Let him come to me. 



POEM ADDRESSED TO MR. MITCHELL, 

collector of k x r i s k. 

Dumfries, 1700. 

[The gentleman to whom tliifl very moilest, ami, under the oircunistancos, most affect- 
ing appliei\tion for his salary was made, filled the odico of Collector of Hxcise for (ho 
district, and was of a kind and generous nature: but few were aware that the poet wa8 
sufferinj/ both from ill-lioalth and poverty.] 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal ; 
Alake, alake, the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skclpin' jig and reel, 

In my poor pouches! 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it, 
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it, 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood duntcd 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 



336 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket, 
And by fell death was nearly nicket ; 
Grim loon ! he got me by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, 
My hale and weel I'll tak a care o't, 

A tentier way : 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o't, 

For ance and aye ! 



TO MISS JESSIE LEWARS, 

DUMFRIES. 
■WITH JOHNSON'S ' MUSICAL MUSEUM.' 

[Miss Jessy Lewars watched over the declining days of the poet, with tlie afTectionat* 
reverence of a daugliter: for this she has the silent gratitude of all who admire the 
genius of Burns; she has received more, the thanks of the poet himself, expressed in 
verses not destined soon to die.] 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
And with them take the Poet's prayer; 
That fate may in her fairest page, 
With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name : 
With native worth and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare; 
All blameless joys on earth we find, 
And all the treasiires of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, The Bard. 
Jane 26, 1796. 



ROBERT BURNS. 337 

POEM ON LIFE, 

addressed to colonel de peyster. 

Dumfries, 1796. 

[This is supposed to he the last Poem written hy the hand, or conceived by the muse of 
Burns. The person to whom it is addressed was Colonel of the Gentlemen Volunteers of 
Dumfries, in whose ranks Burns was a private : he was a Canadian by birth, and prided 
himself on having defended Detroit, against the united efforts of the French and Ameri- 
cans. He was rough and austere, and thought the science of war the noblest of all 
sciences : he affected a taste for literature, and wrote verses.] 

My honour'd colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal; 
Ah ! how sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus by bolus, pill. 

And potion glasses. 

what a canty warld were it, 

Would pain and care and sickness spare it; 

And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve ! 
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret ; 

Syne, wha wad starve ?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her. 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still, 
Ay wavering like the willow-wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons by a ratton. 
Our siufu' saul to get a claut on 

Wi' felon ire; 
Syne, whip ! his tail yc'll ne'er cast saut on — 

He's all' like fire. 

Ah Nick! ah Nick ! it is na fair. 
First showing us the tempting ware, 
29 



338 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 
To put us daft; 

Syne, weave, unseen, tliy spider snare • 
0' liell's damn'd waft. 

Poor man, the flic, aft bizzes bye. 
And aft as cliance he conies thee nigh, 
Thy auld damn'd elbow ycuks wi' joy, 

And hellish pleasure; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure ! 

Soon heels-o'or-gowdie ! in he gangs. 
And like a sheep head on a tangs, 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murd'ring wrestle, 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil. 

To plague you with this draunting drivel. 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I (|uat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil, 

Amen ! Amen ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 339 

EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, FEAGMEJSTTS, 

ETC., ETC. 



ON THE AUTHOR'S FATHER. 

• [William Burness merited his son's eulogiums : ho was an example of piety, patience. 
and fortitude.] 

YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 

Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend ! 
Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 

The tender father and the gcn'rous friend. 
Tlie pitying heart that felt for hunuin woe; 

The dauntless heart that feared no human pride ; 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe; 

'' For ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side." 



ON R. A., ESQ. 

[Ro>)ert Aiken, Esq., to whom "The Cotter's Saturday Night" is addressed: a kind 
and generous man.] 

Know thou, stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made cold. 



ON A FRIEND. 



[The name of this friend is neither mentioned nor alluded to in any of the poet's 
productions.] 

An honest man here lies at rest 
As e'er God with his image blest ! 



340 THE r E T I c A L wo 11 K S OF 

The friend of man, tlic friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth ; 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warni'd. 
Few heads with knowledge so inforni'd : 
If there's another world, he lives in hliss; 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 



roil GAVIN HAMILTON. 



[These lines alluile to tho porsoeutiou which Hamilton endured for presuming to ride 
111 Sunday, and say, " damn it," in tho iiresoiico of the minister of MauehUno.] 

The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps, 

Whom canting wretches hlam'd : 
But with such as he, where'er he be, 

jMay I be sav'd or damn'd ! 



ON WEE JOHNNY. 



niC .lACET WHE .lOIINNV. 



[Woe >Iohnny was John Wilson, printer of the Kilmarnock oilition of T>urns's Poems: 
ho doubted the success of the speculation, and tho poet punished him in these lines, which 
ho printed unaware of their meaning.] 

AVhoe'er thou art, reader, know, 
That death has murder'd Johnny! 

An' hero his body lies fu' low — 
For saul he ne'er had ony. 



ON JOHN DOVE, 

INNKEKI'Kl!, MAUCHLINE. 



[.lohn T)ovc kept the Whitefoord Arms in Mauchliue : his religion is made to consist of a 
comparative appreciation of the liquors ho kept.] 

Here lies Johnny Pidgcon ; 
What was his religion ? 

Wha e'er desires to ken, 
To some other warl' 
JIauu follow the carl. 

For here Johnny Pidgcon had uanc! 



ROBERT BURNS. 341 

Strong ale was ablution — 
Small beer, persecution, 

A dram was memento mori ; 
But a full flowing bowl 
AVas the saving his soul, 

And port was celestial glory. 



ON A WAG IN MAUCIILINE. 

[This laborious and useful wag was the " Dear Smith, thou sleest pawkie thief," of one 
of the poet's tinest epistles: he ilied in the West Indies.] 

Lament him, Mauchliue husbands a', 

lie aften did assist ye ; 
For had ye staid whole weeks awa, 

Your wives they ne'er had missed ye. 
Ye Mauchline bairns, as oa ye press 

To school in bands thegithcr, 
tread ye lightly on his grass, — 

Perhaps he was your father. 



ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER, 

[Souter Hood obtained the distinction of this Epigram by his impertinent inquiries iuto 
what he called the moral delinquencies of Burns.] 

Here souter Hood in death docs sleep ; — 

To h-11, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep. 

He'll baud it weel thegithcr. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 



[This noisy polemic was a mason of the name of James Humphrey: he astonished Cro- 
meU by au eloquent dissertation on free grace, effectual-calling, and predestination.] 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes : 

Death, it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a blethrin' b — ch 

Into thy dark dominion ! 
29 » 



>42 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



ON MISS JEAN SCOTT. 

[The heroine of these complimentary lines lived in Ayr, and cheered the poet with her 
sweet Toice, as ■well as her sweet looks.] 

Oh ! had eacli Scot of ancient times, 

Been Jeany Scott, as thou art, 
The bravest heart on English ground 

Had yielded like a coward ! 



ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE. 

[Though satisfied with the severe satire of these lines, the poet made a second attempt.] 

As father Adam first was fool'd, 

A case that's still too common, 
Here lies a man a woman rul'd, 

The devil rul'd the woman. 



ON THE SAME. 



[The second attempt did not in Burns's fancy exhaust this fruitful subject: he tried 
his hand again.] 

DEATH, hadst thou hut spared his life 

Whom we this day lament, 
We freely wad exchang'd the wife, 

And a' been weel content ! 

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graflf. 

The swap we yet will do't ; 
Take thou the carlin's carcase afF, 

Thou'se tret the soul to boot. 



ON THE SAME. 



[In these lines he bade farewell to this sordid dame, who lived, it is said, in Nether- 
place, near Maucliline.] 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell. 
When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well. 



ROBERT BURNS. 348 

In respect for tlie love aud afFectiou he'd sliow'd her, 
She reduc'd him to dust aud she drauk up the powder. 
But Queen Netherplace, of a diff'reut complexion, 
When call'd on to order the fuu'ral direction, 
Would have eat her dear lord, on a slender pretence. 
Not to show her respect, but to save the expense. 



THE HIGHLAND WELCOME. 

[Burns took farewell of the hospitalities of the Scottish Highlanas in these happy lines.] 

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 

A time that surely shall come ; 
In Heaven itself I'll ask no more 

Thau just a Highland welcome. 



ON WILLIAM SMELLIE. 



Lbmellie, author of the Philosophy of Uistory ; a singular person, of ready wit, and 
negligent in nothing save his dress.] 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan came. 
The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twas four long nights aud days to shaving night : 

His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd 
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd : 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, aud good. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARRON. 

[These lines were written on receiving what the poet considered an uncivil refusal to 
look at the works of the celebrated Carron foundry.] 

We came na here to view your warks 
In hopes to be mair wise, 



344 T II E r I'l T 1 C A L W 11 Iv S OF 

But only, lost wc i;'ang to hell, 
It may be luio surprise : 

For whaii we tirlVl at yonv door, 
Your porter doiii;]it nu hear us ; 

Sac may, .sliou'd we to hell's yctts come, 
i^oiir billy Satan sair us ! 



THE BOOK-WORMS. 

[Burns wroto this reproof in a SliaUspciiro, wliich li(> f miul sploiuliiUy bound and gilt, 
but unread and worm-oaton, in a noble person's library.] 

Tiilioucill ami tlirongli tlie iiis])irM leaves, 

Ye maggots, make your wiiuliugsj 
But oh ! respeet his lordship's taste, 

And spare his golden bindings. 



LINES ON STIRLING. 

[On visiting StirliiiiT. r.nriis wiis sluni; at bclmliling nothing but desolation in the 
palaces of our priiifcs mill our balls of Iciiislatiim, and vented his indijiiiation in these 
unloyal lines: some one has said that they were written by bis eonipaniou, N'iool, but 
this wants eonlirniation.] 

TIkkk Stuarts once in glory reign'd, 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd; 
]>ut now unroof d their jwlaoe stands, 
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands j 
The injured Stuart line is gone, 
A race outlandish fills their throne; 
An idiot race, to honour lost; 
"Who know them best despise them most. 



THE REPROOF. 



[The imprudcueo of maUiiig the lines written at Stirling public was hinted to Burns by 
n friend; ho said, "'Oh, but I mean to reprove myself for it," which ho did in tbesu 
words.] 

T{.\sii mortal, and slanderous Poet, thy name 
Shall no longer appear in the records of fame; 



ROBERT BURNS. 345 

Does not know that old Mansfield, who writes like the Bible, 
Says the more 'tis the truth, Sir, the more 'tis a libel ? 



THE REPLY. 



[The minister of Olatlsmuir wrote a censure on the Stirling lines, intimating, as a priest, 
that Burns's race was nigh run, and as a prophet, that oblivion awaitoU his muse. The 
poet replied to the expostulation.] 

Like Esop's lion, Burns says, sore I feel 
All others' scorn — but damn that ass's heel. 



LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE 
CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. 

[Tlie Miss Burns of those lines was well known in those days to the bucks of the Scot- 
tish metropolis : there is .still a letter by the poet, claiming from the magistrates of Edin- 
burgh a liberal interpretation of the laws of social mor.ility, in behalf of his fair namesake.] 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railini^s. 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess : 

True it is, she had one failing — 
Had a woman ever less ? 



EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION. 

[These portr.aits are strongly coloured with the partialities of the poet: Dundas had 
Offended his pride, Erskine had pleased his vanity; and us he felt he spoke.] 

LORD ADVOCATE. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, 

He quoted and he hinted, 
'Till in a declamatiora-mist 

His argument he tint it : 
He gaped for't, he grap'd for't, 

He fand it was awa, man ; 
But what his common sense came short 

He eked out wi' law, man. 



346 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



MR. EUSKINE. 



Collected Harry stood awee, 

Then open'd out liis arm, man : 
His lordship sat wi' rueful e'e, 

And ey'd the gathering storm, man; 
Like wind-driv'n hail it did assail. 

Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
The Bench sae wise lift up their eyes, 

Half-waukeu'd wi' the din, man. 



THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 

[A lady who expressed herself with incivility about her husband's potations with Burns, 
was rewarded by tliese sharp lines.] 

Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife ! 
Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
AVho has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell; 
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell ! 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart; 
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b — h. 



,WRITTEN AT INVERARY. 

[Neglected at the inn of Inverary, on account of the presence of some northern chiefs, 
and overlooked by his Grace of Argyll, the poet let loose his wrath and his rhyme: tradi- 
tion speaks of a pursuit which took place on the part of the Campbell, when he was told 
of his mistake, and of a resolution not to be soothed ou the part of the bard.] 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he's come to wait upon 

The Lord their God, his Grace. 

There's naething here but Highland pride, 
And Highland cauld and hunger; 



ROBERT BURN S. 347 

If Providence has sent me here, 
'Twas surely iu his anger. 



ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATIONS OF MARTIAL'S 
EPIGRAMS. 

[Burns thus relates the origin of this sally : — 

" Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edinburgh, a friend of mine one day put Elphin- 
stone's translation of Jlartial into my hand, and desired my opinion of it. I asked per- 
mission to write my opinion on a blank leaf of the book; which being granted, I wrote 
this epigram.] 

THOU, whom poesy abhors, 
Whom prose has turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan ? proceed no further; 
'Twas hiurell'd Martial roarins; murther ! 



INSCRIPTION, ON THE HEADSTONE OF FERGUSSON. 

[Some social friends, whose good feelings were better than their taste, have ornamented 
wiUi supplemental Iron work the headstone which Burns erected, with this inscription 
to the memory of his brother bard, Fergusson.] 

Here lies 

Robert Fergusson, Poet. 

Born, September 5, 1751 ; 

Died, Oct. 15, 1774. 

No sculptured marble here, uor pompous lay, 
"No storied urn nor animated bust;" 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust. 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER. 



[The Willie Michie of this epigram was, it i.i said, schoolmaster of the parish of Cleish, 
in Fifeshire: he met Burns during his first visit to Edinburgh.] 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes; 

0, Satan ! when ye tak' him, 
Gi'e him the sehoolin' o' your weans. 

For clever de'ils he'll mak' them. 



348 THE POETICAL AV R K S OF 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

[This was an extempoi-o sracc, pronounced by the poet at a dinner-table, In Dumfries: 
ho was ever ready to contribute tlio small change of rhyme, for either the use or amuse- 
ment of a company.] 

Tiiou, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
Wg bless thee, God of Nature wide, 

For all thy goodness lent : 
And if it please thee, Heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent; 
But, whether granted or denied, 

Lord bless us with content ! 

Amen. 



A GRACE BEFORE MEAT. 

[Pronounced, tradition says, at the table of Mrs. Kiddol, of Woodleigh-Park.] 

Tiiou in M'honi we live and move. 

Who mad'st the sea and shore, 
Thy goodness constantly we prove. 

And grateful would adore. 
And if it please thee, Power above, 

Still grant us with such store. 
The friend we trust, the fair we love, 

x\ud we desire no more. 



ON WAT. 

[The name of the object of this fierce epigram might bo found, but in gratifying ouri- 
osity. some pain would be inflicted.] 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave, 
That the very worms damn'd him 

When laid in his o'rave. 



349 



ROBERT BURNS. 

" 111 Ills flcsli tlicve's a fauune," 
2V stiirv'd reptile cries j 

" Au' liis heart is rank poison," 
Another replies. 



ON CAPTAIN FllANCIS GROSE. 

[This was a festive sally: it is said that Grose, who was very fat, though ho joined in 
thu laugh, did not relish it.| 

The devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 

So whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; 

But when he approach'd where poor Francis lay moaning, 

And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, 

Astonish'd ! confounded ! cry'd Satan, " By , 

I'll want him, ere I take such a damnable load !" 



IxMPROMPTU, TO MISS AINSLIE. 

[These lines were oecasioiied hy a sermon on sin, to which the poet and Miss Aiuslie of 
Berry well had listened, during his visit to the border.] 

Fair maid, you need not take the hint, 

Nor idle texts pursue : — 
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant, 

Not angels such as you ! 



THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON. 



[One rough, cold day, Burns listened to a sermon, so little to his liking, in the kirk of 
Lamington, in Clydesdale, that he left this protest on the seat where he sat.] 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
As caulder kirk, an iu't but few; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het ere I come back. 

30 



3o0 T HE P K T 1 C A L W 11 K S OF 



THE LKAXUIK AND COVENANT. 

I 111 niiswcr to a gontlomiiii, who called Uic scilemn Luague and Covouaut ridiculous 
uud t'aiiatical.l 

The solemn Lcao-ue ami Covenant 

Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears; 

But it seal'd freedom's sacred cause — 
If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. 



WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS, 

IN THK INN AT MOI'l'ATT. 

[A fripnij .iskod Uin poet, why ('«i<\ iiiudo !\Iiss Davios so littU-. and n lady who was with 
licr, so lari;«: lu'l'oro tho ladies, who had just passed tlie window, wore out of siijht, lht> 
Ibllowiug unswor was rec-orded on a pano of ^;la^s.] 

Ask wliy (5od made the gem so small, 

And why so huge the granite!' 
Because God meant manl<ind should set 

The higher value on it. 



SPOKEN, ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE. 

[lUirns took no pli'asiire in the naino of gaugor: tlie situatiou was umvortliy of him, 
aud lie seldom liesilated to say so.] 

Skauciiing auld wives' barrels, 

Och— hon ! the day ! 
That clarty barm should stain my laurels; 

But — what'll ye say ! 
These movin' things ca'd wives and weans 
Wad move the veiy hearts o' stanes I 



LINES ON MRS. KEMBLE. 



[The poet wrote tliese lines in Mrs. Kiddel's iiox in the nnnilVies Theatre, in the winter 
of 17Ui: he was mueh moved by Mrs. Keuiblo's noble and jiathetie neting.") 

IvKlMiUiE, thou cur'st my unbelief 
Of Moses and his rod ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 351 

At Yarico's sweet notes of gTief 
The rock with tears had flovv'd. 



TO MR. SYME. 



[John Syme, of Ryedale, a rhymor, a wit, and a gentleman of education and intclllgonpe, 
was, while Burns resided in Dumfries, his chief companion: ho was bred to the law.] 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 

And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit. 

Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. SYME. 

WITH A IMUOSKNT 01' A DOZHN OK I'dlTKIt. 

[The tavern where thejie lines were wiitten was kept by a wnnderiiif; mortal of the name 
of Smith; who, having visited in some capacity or other the Holy liaiul, put on his si^n, 
".John Smith, from Jerusalem." He was commonly known by the name of Jerusalem 
John.] 

O, HAD the malt thy strength of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
'Twere drink for first of human kind, 

A gift that e'en for Synie were fit. 
Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



A GRACE. 



[This Oraco was spoken at the tnble of Hyedalo, where to the best cookery was added the 
richest wine, as well as the rarest wit : Hyslop was a distiller.] 

Lord, we thank and thee adore, 

For temp'ral gifts we little merit; 
At present we will ask no more, 

Let William Ilyslop give the spirit. 



352 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

[Written on a dinner-goblet by the hand of Burns. Symc, exasperated at having his 
set of crystal defaced, threw the goblet under the grate : it was taken up by his clerk, and 
it is still preserved as a curiosity.] 

There's death in the cup — sae beware ! 

Nay, more — there is clanger in touching; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare? 

The man and his wine's sae bewitching! 



THE INVITATION. 



[Burns had a happy knack in acknowledging civilities: these lines were written with 
a iiiMicil (in the paper in which Mrs. Hyslop, of Lochrutton, enclosed an invitation to 
dinner.] 

The King's most humble servant I, 

Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
But I am yours at dinner-time, 

Or else the devil's in it. 



THE CREED OF POVERTY. 



[When the commissioners of Exci,<;e told Burns that he was to act, and not to think; he 

took out his pencil and wrote "Tlie Creed of Poverty."] 

In polities if thou would'st mix, 

And mean thy fortunes be; 
Bear this in mind — be deaf and blind ; 

Let great folks hear and see. 



WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK. 

[That Burns loved liberty and sympathized with those who wore warring in its causo> 
these lines, and hundreds more, sufficiently testify.] 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they give, 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 



ROBERT BURNS. 



THE PARSON'S LOOKS. 

[Some sarcastic person said, in Burns's hearing, that there was falsehood in the Reverend 
Dr. lUirnsidii's looks: the poet mused for a moment, and replied in lines which have less 
of truth than point.] 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny ; 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 



THE TOAD-EATER. 



[This reproof was administered extempore to one of the guests at the table of Maxwell, 
of 'J'errauirlity, whose whole talk was of dukes with whom he had dined, and of earls with 
whom he had supped.] 

What of earls with whom you have supt, 
And of dukes that you dined with yestreen ? 

Lord ! a louse, Sir, is still but a louse. 
Though it crawl on the curl of a queen. 



ON ROBERT RIDDEL. 



[I copied these lines from a pane of cilass in the Friars-Carse Hermitase, on which they 
had been traced with the diamond of liurns.] 

To Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth ? 

This ivied cot revere. 



THE TOAST. 



[Burns bpinj called on for a song, by his brother volunteers, on a festive occasion, gave 
the following Toast.] 

Instead of a song-, boys, I'll give you a toast — 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost ! — 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heav'n, that we found; 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
30* 



554 THE POETICAL AVORKS OP 

The next in succession, I'll give you — the King ! 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing; 
And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Kcvolution ; 
And longer with politics not to be cramm'd, 
Be Anarchy curs'd, and be Tyranny damn'd; 
And who would to liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial. 



ON A PERSON NICKNAMED ' THE MARQUIS.' 

[Tn a moment when vanity prevailed against prudence, this person, who kupt a respect 
able public-house in Dumfries, desired Burns to write his epitaph.] 

Here lies a mock ]Marquis, whose titles were shamm'd; 
If ever he rise, it will be to be dainn'd. 



LINES 



WRITTEN ON A WINDOW. 



[Burns traced these words witli a diamond, on the window of the King's Arms Tavern, 
Dumfries, as a reply, or reproof, to one who had been witty on excisemen.] 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
'Gainst poor Excisemen ? give the cause a hearing ; 
What are you, landlords' rent-rolls ? teasing ledgers : 
What premiers — what ? even monarchs' mighty gangers : 
Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men ? 
What are they, pray, but spiritual Excisemen ? 



LINES 

WUITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE GI^OBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

[The Globe Tavern was Burn.s's favourite " Ilowff," as he called it. It had other attrac- 
tions than good liquor; there lived "Anna, with the golden locks.'"] 

The graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, 
Give me with gay Folly to live ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 355 

I grant liim liis calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, 
But Folly has raptures to give. 



THE SELKIRK GRACE. 

[On a Tisit to St. Mary's Isle, Burns was reriuested by the noble owner to say grare at 
dinner; he obeyed in these lines, now known in Galloway by the name of "The Selkirk 
Grace."] 

Some hae meat and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it; 

But we hae meat and we can eat, 
And sae the Lord be thaukit. 



TO DR. M A X W E L L, 

ON JESSIE staig's kecovery. 

[Maxwell was a skilful physician ; and Jessie Staig, the Provost's eldest daughter, was 
a young lady of great beauty: she died early.] 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave. 

That merit I deny • 
You save fair Jessie fi'om the grave ? — 

An auGcel could not die. 



EPITAPH. 



[Thesf- lines were traced by the hand of Burns on a goblet belonging to Gabriel Eichard- 
son, brewer, in Dumfries : it is carefully pre.served in the family.] 

Heke brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, 

And empty all his barrels : 
He's blest — if, as he brew'd, he drink — 

lu upright virtuous morals. 



356 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

EPITAPH ON WILLIAM NICOL. 

[Nicol was a scholar of ready and rough wit, who loved a joke and a gill.] 

Ye maggots, feast ou Nicol's brain, 
For few sic feasts ye've gotten ; 

And fix your claws in Nicol's heart, 
For deil a bit o't's rotten. 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG, NAMED ECHO. 

[When visiting with Syme at Kenmore Castk', Burns wrote this Epitaph, rather 
reluctantly, it is said, at the request of the lady of the house, in honour of her lap-dog.] 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now half extinct your powers of song. 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around, 

Scream your discordant joys; 
Now half your din of tuneless sound 

With Echo silent lies. 



ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 



[Neither Ayr, Edinburgh, nor Dumfries have contested the honour of producing the 
person on whom these lines were written: — coxcombs are the growth of all districts.] 

Light lay the earth on Willy's breast. 

His chiclven-heart so tender ; 
But build a castle on his head, 

His skull will prop it under. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. 

[This, and the three succeeding Epigrams, are hasty .si|uibs thrown amid the tumult of 
a contested election, and must not be taVeii as the fi.Ked and deliberate sentiments of the 
poet, regarding an ancient and noble house.] 

What dost thou in that mansion fair? — 
Flit, Galloway, and find 



ROBERT BURNS. 357 

Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 
The picture of thy mind ! 



ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all Avere brave ; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME. 

Bright ran thy line, Calloway, 
Thro' many a far-fani'd sire ! 

So ran the far-fam'd Roman way, 
So ended in a mire. 



TO THE SAME, 

ON TUB AUTHOR BEING THREATENED WITH HIS RESENTMENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

For thou hast none to trive. 



ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. 

[Mr. Maxwell of Cardonefs, afterwards Sir David, exposed himself to the rhyming wrath 
of Burns, by his activity iu the contested elections of Heron.] 

Bless Jesus Christ, Cardoness, 

With grateful lifted eyes, 
Who said that not the soul alone, 

But body too, must rise : 



358 THE POETICAL W ORES OF 

For had lie said, " the soul alone 
From death I will deliver ;" 

Alas ! alas ! Cardouess, 

Then thou hadst slept for ever. 



ON JOHN BUSHBY. 



[Burns, in his hai'sliest lampoons, alw.-jys admitted the tah'nts of Busliby : the pe.asantry, 
wlio hate all clever attorniiy.s, loved to handle his character with unsparing severity.] 

Here lies John Bu,shby, honest man ! 
Cheat hiiu, Devil, gin ye can. 



THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES. 



[At a dinner-party, where politics ran high, lines .signed by men who called themselves 
the true loyal natives of Dumfries, were handed to Burns: he took a pencil, and at once 
wrote this reply,] 

Ye true ''Loyal Natives," attend to my song, 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 

From envy or hatred your corps is exempt, 

But where is your shield from the darts of contempt ? 



ON A SUICIDE. 



[Burns was observed by my friend. Dr. Copland Ilutchi.son, to fix, one morning, a bit 
of j)aper on the grave of a person who had committed suicide : on the paper these lines 
were pencilled.] 

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell, 

Planted by Satan's dibble — 
Poor silly wretch, he's damn'd himsel' 

To save the Lord the trouble. 



EGBERT BURNS. 359 



EXTEMPORE, PINNED ON A LADY'S COACH. 

[" Printed," says Sir Harris Nicolas, " from a copy in Burns's handwriting," a slight 
alteration in the last line is made from an oral version.] 

If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue, 

Your speed will outrival the dart : 
Eut, a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road 

If your stuff has the rot, like her heart. 



LINES TO JOHN RANKINE. 

[These lines were said to have been written by the poet to Rankine, of Adamhill, with 
orders to forward them when he died.] 

He who of Rankine sang, lies stiff and dead, 
And a green grassy hillock hides his head ; 
Alas ! alas ! a devilish chano-e indeed. 



JESSY LEWARS. 



[Written on the blank side of a list of wild beasts, exhibiting in Dumfries. "Now," said 
the poet, who was then very ill, "it is fit to be presented to a lady."] 

Talk not to me of savages 

From Afric's burning sun. 
No savage e'er could rend my heart 

As, Jessy, thou hai5t done. 
But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight. 
Not even to view the heavenly choir 

Would be so blest a si<>-ht. 



THE TOAST. 



[One day, when Burns was ill and seemed in slumber, he observed Jessy Lewars moV' 
ing about the house with a light step lest she should disturb him. He took a crystal 
goblet containing wiue-and-water for moistening his lips, wrote these words upon it with 
a diamond, and presented it to her.] 



Fill me with the rosy wine, 
Call a toast — a toast divine ; 



oGO THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Give tlie Poet's darling flame, 
Lovely Jessy be the uame ; 
Then thou maj^est freely boast, 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 



ON MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

[The constancy of her attoudance on the poet's sick-bed and anxiety of mind brought a 
slight illness upon Jessy Lewars. " You must not die yet," said the poet : " give me that 
goblet and I shall prepare you for the worst." He traced these lines with his diamond, 
and said. '-That will be a companion to 'The Toast.' "'J 

Say, sages, what's the charm on earth 

Can turn Death's dart aside ? 
It is not purity and worth, 

Else Jessy had not died. 

R. B. 



ON THE RECOVERY OF JESSY LEWARS. 

[A little repose brought hoalth to the young lady. " I knew you would not die," observed 
the poet, with a smile: "there is a poetic reason for your recovery:" he wrote, and wilh 
a feeble hand, the following lines.] 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth, 

The natives of the sky ; 
Yet still one seraph's left on earth. 

For Jessy did not die. 

R. B. 



TAM, THE CHAPMAN. 

[Tam, the chapman, is said by the late William Cobbott, who knew him, to have been 
a Thomas Kennedy, a native of Ayrshire, agent to a mercantile house in the west ot Scot- 
land. Sir Harris Nicolas confounds him with the Kennedy to wliom Burns addressed 
several letters and verses, which I printed in my edition of the poet, in 1S34 : it is perhaps 
enough to say that the name of the one was Thomas and the name of the other John.] 

As Tam the Chapman on a day, 

Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 

Wecl pleas'd he greets a wight so famous, 

And Death was nae less pleas'd wi' Thomas, 



ROBERT BURNS. 361 

Wha clieerfully lays down the pack, 
And there blaws up a hearty crack j 
His social, friendly, honest heart, 
Sae tickled Death they could na part : 
Sae after viewing knives and garters. 
Death takes him hanie to gie him quarters. 



[These lines seem to owe their origin to the precept of Mickle- 

" The present moment is our ain, 

Tlie next we never saw."] 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

vVhat wad you wish for mair, man ? 
Wha kens before his life may end, 

What his share may be o' care, man ? 
Then catch the moments as they fly. 

And use them as ye ought, man ! 
Believe me, happiness is shy. 

And comes not ay when sought, man. 



[The sentiment which these lines express, was one familiar to Burns, in the early, as 
well as concluding days of his life.] 

Though fickle Fortune has deceived me. 
She promis'd fair and perform'd but ill; 

Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav'd me. 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. — 

I'll act with prudence as far's I'm able. 

But if success I must never find, 
Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 

I'll meet thee with an undaunted mind. 



31 



THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



TO JOHN KENNEDY. 

[The John Kennedy to whom these verses and the succeeding lines were addressed, lived, 
in 1796, at Dumfries-house, and his taste was so mui h esteemed by the poet, that he sub- 
mitted his " Cotter's Saturday Night" and the " Mountain Daisy" to his judgment: he 
seems to have been of a social disposition.] 

Now, Kennedy, if foot or horse 

E'er bring you in by Mauchline Cross, 

L — d, man, there's lasses there wad force 

A hermit's fancy, 
And down the gate in faith they're worse 

And inair unchancy. 

But as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
Till some bit callan bring me news 

That ye are there, 
And if we dinna hae a bouze 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 

It's no I like to sit an' swallow. 
Then like a swine to puke and wallow, 
But gie me just a true good fallow, 

Wi' right ingine, 
And spunkie ance to make us mellow, 

And then we'll shine. 

Now if ye're ane o' warl's folk, 
"VVha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
An' sklent on poverty their joke 

Wi' bitter sneer, 
Wi' you nae friendship I will troke. 

Nor cheap nor dear. 

But if, as I'm informed weel. 
Ye hate as ill's the very deil 
The flinty heart that canna feel — 

Come, Sir, here's tae you ! 
Hae, there's my haun, I wiss you weel. 
And gude be wi' you. 

Robert Burness. 
Mossffiel, 3 March, 1786. 



ROBERT BURNS. 363 



TO JOHN KENNEDY. 

Farewell, dear friend ! may guid luck hit you, 
And 'mang her favourites admit you ! 
If e'er Detraction shore to smit you, 

May nane believe him I 
And ony deil that thinks to get you, 

Good Lord deceive him ! 
R. B. 
KUmarnoch, A^igust, 1786. 



[Cromek found these characteristic lines among the poefs papers.] 

There's naethin' like the honest nappy ! 
Whaur'U ye e'er see men sae happy, 
Or women, sonsie, saft an' sappy, 

'Tweeu morn an' morn. 
As them wha like to taste the drappie 

In glass or horn ? 

I've seen me daezt upon a time ; 
I scarce could wink or see a styme ; 
Just ae hauf muchkin does me prime, 

Ought less is little, 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme. 

As gleg's a whittle. 



ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A WORK BY HANNAH MORE, 



PRESENTED BY MRS. C- 



Thou flattering work of friendship kind, 
Still may thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor; 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the heart, 

Does both the sexes honour. 



364 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

She show'd her taste refined and just, 

When she selected thee, 
Yet deviating, own I must, 
For so approving me ! 

But kind still, I'll mind still 

The giver in the gift; 
I'll bless her, and wiss her 
A Friend above the Lift. 
Mossgiel, April, 178G. 



TO THE MEN AND BRETHREN OF THE MASONIC LODGE 
AT TARBOLTON. 

Within your dear mansion may wayward contention. 

Or withering envy ne'er enter: 
May secrecy round be the mystical bound. 
And brotherly love be the centre. 
Edinburgh, 23 August, 1787. 



I M P R M P T U. 



[Tho tumbler on which these verses are inscribed by the diamond of Burns, found itj 
way to the hands of Sir Walter Scott, and is now among the treasures of Abbotsford.] 

You're welcome, Willie Stewart, 
You're welcome, Willie Stewart; 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, 
That's half sae welcome's thou art. 

Come bumpers high, express your joy. 

The bowl we maun renew it; 
The tappit-hen, gae bring her ben, 

To welcome Willie Stewart. 

May foes be straing, and friends be slack. 

Ilk action may he rue it, 
May woman on him turn her back, 

That wrongs thee, Willie Stewart. 



ROBERT BURNS. 365 



PRAYER FOR ADAM ARMOUR. 

[The origin of this prayer is curious. In 17S5, the maid-servant of an innkeeper at 
Maucliline, having been caught in what old ballad-makers delicately call '-the deed of 
shame," Adam Armour, the brother of the poet's bonnie Jean, with one or two more of 
his comrades, executed a rustic act of justice upon her, by parading her perforce through 
the village, placed ou a rough, unpruued piece of wood : an unpleasant ceremony, vul- 
garly called "Riding the Stang." This was resented by Geordie and Nanse, the girl's 
master and mistress: law was resorted to, and as Adam had to hide till the matter was 
settled, he durst not venture home till late on the Saturday nights. In one of these home- 
comings he met Burns, who laughed when he heard the story, and said, " You have need 
of some one to pray for you." " No one can do that better than yourself," was the reply, 
and this humorous intercession was made on the instant, and, as it is said, "clean off 
loof " From Adam Armour I obtained the verses, and when he wrote them out, he told 
the story in which the prayer originated.] 

Lord, pity me, for I am little, 
An elf of mischief and of mettle, 
That can like ony wabster's shuttle, 

Jink there or here ; 
Though scarce as lang's a gude kale-whittle, 

I'm unco queer. 

Lord pity now our waefu' case, 

For Geordie's Jurr we're in disgrace. 

Because we stang'd her through the place, 

'Mang hundreds laughin', 
For which we daurna show our face 

Within the clachan. 

And now we're dern'd in glens and hallows, 
And hunted as was William Wallace, 
By constables, those blackguard fellows, 

And bailies baith, 
Lord, preserve us frae the gallows ! 

That cursed death. 

Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's sel', 
shake him ewre the mouth o' hell, 
And let him hing, and roar, and yell, 

Wi' hideous din, 
And if he offers to rebel, 

Just heave him in. 

31* 



366 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

When Death comes in wi' glimmering blink, 
And tips anld drunken Nanse the wink, 
Gaur Satan gie her a — e a clink 

Behint his yett, 
And fill her up wi' brimstone drink, 

lied reeking het I 

There's Jockie and the hav'rel Jenny, 
Some devil seize them in "a hurry, 
And waft them in th' infernal wherry 

Straught through the lake, 
And gie their hides a noble curry, 

Wi' oil of aik. 

As for the lass, lascivious body, 

She's had mischief enough already, 

Weel stang'd by market, mill, and smiddie, 

She's suffer'd sair; 
But may she wintlc in a widdie. 

If she wh-re mair. 



ROBERT BURNS. 367 



SONGS AND BALLADS. 



HANDSOME NELL. 

Tune — " / am a man unmarried." 

["This composition," says Burns in his "Common-place Boole," "ivas the first of my 
performances, and done at an early period in life, when my heart glowed with honest, warm 
simfilicity ; unacquainted and uucorrupted with the ways of a wicked world. The subject 
of it was a young girl who really deserved all the praises I have bestowed on her."] 

ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still ; 
And, whilst that honour warms my breast, 

111 love my handsome Nell. 

As bonnie lasses I hae seen. 

And mony full as braw j 
But for a modest gracefu' mien 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass, I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e. 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet. 

And what is best of a'. 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses ay sae clean and neat. 

Both decent and genteel : 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars ony dress look weel. 



A gaudy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heart; 

But it's innocence and modesty 
That polishes the dart. 



•368 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

'Tis this iu Nelly pleases mc, 
'Tis this enchauts my soul ; 

For absolutely in luy breast 
She reiji'us without coutrol. 



LUCKLESS FORTUNE. 

[These lines, as Burns informs \is, were written to a tune of his own composing, con- 
sisting of three parts, and the words were the echo of the air.] 

RAGING fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, ! 
raging fortune's withering blast 

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 
My stem was fair, my bud was green, 

My blossom sweet did blow, ; 
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild, 

And made my branches grow, 0. 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, ; 
But luckless fortune's northern storms 

Laid a' my blossoms low, 0. 



I DREAM'D I LAY. 

[These melancholy verses were written when the poet was some serenteeu years old.' 
his early days were typical of his latter.] 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing 

Gaily iu the sunny beam; 
List'ning to the wild birds singing 

By a falling crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave ; 
Trees with aged arms were warring. 

O'er the swelling drumlie wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasure I ciijoy'd : 
But lang or noou, loud tempests storming, 

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. 



ROBERT BURNS. 369 

Tho' fickle fortune has deeeiv'd mo, 

She prouiis'd fair, and perforra'd but ill; 

Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me, 
I bear a heart shall support me still. 



TIBBIE, I IIAE SEEN THE DAY. 

Tune — " Invercauld's Reel." 

[The Tibbie who " spak na, but gaed by lilce stoure," was, it is said, the daughter of a 
man who was laird of three acres of peatmoss, and thought it became her to put on airs 
in consequence.] 

CHORUS. 

Tibbie, I bae seen the day, 

Ye wad na been sae shy ; 
For lack o' gear ye lightly me, 

But, trowth, I care na by. 

Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure ; 
Ye geek at me because I'm poor. 
But fient a hair care I. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think. 
Because ye hae the name o' clink. 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean, 
That looks sae proud and high. 

Altho' a lad were e'er eae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt. 
And answer him fu' dry. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear. 
Be better than the kye. 



370 THE POETICAL AVORKS OF 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice ; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price, 
Were ye as poor as I. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would nae.gie her in her sark, 
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark ; 
Ye need na look sae his-h. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 

Tune—" The Weaver and his Shuttle, 0." 

[" The following song," says the poet, " is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in yersi- 
fication, but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason I have 
a particular pleasure iu conning it over."] 

My father was a farmer 

Upon the Carrick border, 0, 
And carefully he bred me, 

In decency and order, ; 
He bade me act a manly part, 

Though I had ne'er a farthing, ; 
For without an honest manly heart. 

No man was worth regarding, 0. 

Then out into the world 

My course I did determine, ; 
Tho' to be rich was not my wish. 

Yet to be great was charming, : 
My talents they were not the worst, 

Nor yet my "education, 0; 
llesolv'd was I, at least to try. 

To mend my situation, 0. 

In many a way, and vain essay, 

I courted fortune's favour, ; 
Some cause unseen still stept between 

To frustrate each endeavour, : 



ROBERT BURNS. 371 

Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, 

Sometimes by friends forsaken, 0, 
And wlien my hope was at the top, 

I still was worst mistaken, 0. 

Then sore harass' d, and tir'd at last, 

With fortune's vain delusion, 0, 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, 

And came to this conclusion, : 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; 

Its good or ill untried, ; 
But the present hour was in my pow'r, 

And so I would enjoy it, 0. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I, 

Nor person to befriend me, ; 
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, 

And labour to sustain me, : 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, 

My father bred me early, ; 
For one, he said, to labour bred, 

Was a match for fortune fairly, 0. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor. 

Thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, 0, 
Till down my weary bones I lay, 

In everlasting slumber, 0. 
No view nor care, but shun whate'er 

Might breed me pain or sorrow, : 
I live to-day as well's I may. 

Regardless of to-morrow, 0. 

But cheerful still, I am as well, 

As a monarch in a palace, 0, 
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down. 

With all her wonted malice, : 
I make indeed my daily bread. 

But ne'er can make it farther, ; 
But, as daily bread is all I need, 

I do not much regard her, 0. 



T 11 E r E T I C A L W 11 K S OF 

When sometimes by my labour 

I earn a little uioncy, O, 
Some unforeseen misfortune 

Comes gen' rally upon me, : 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, 

Or by goodnatur'd folly, O ; 
But come what will, I've sworn it still, 

I'll ne'er be melancholy, (). 

All you who follow wealth and power, 

With unremitting ardour, 0, 
The more in this you look for bliss. 

You leave your view the fartluu-, : 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, 

Or nations to adore you, O, 
A choorful honest-hearted clown 

I will prefer before you, O. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN: 

A BALLAD. 

[Composed on tho pliiu of all oV\ song, of which David Liiing has given an authcnfio 
version in his very curious voluino of Metrical Talos.J 

There were three kings into the east, 

Three kings both great and high; 
And they hae sworn a .solemn oath 

John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a i)lough and jilough'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head ; 
And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

15ut the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

And show'rs began tu fall; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surpris'd them all. 



32 



ROBERT BURNS. 373 

The sultry suns of summer came, 

And lie fircw thick and strong ; 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 

That no oue should him wrong. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 

"When he grew wan and pale; 
His bending j(ints and drooping head 

Show'd he began to fail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

lie faded into ago; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp, 

And cut him by the knee; 
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart. 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back. 

And cudgell'd him full sore; 
They hung him u]) before the storm. 

And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim ; 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe ; 
And still, as signs of life appear'd. 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted o'er a scorching flame 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller us'd him worst of all — 

He crush'd him 'tween two stones. 

And they lia'o ta'en his very heart's blood, 

And drank it round and round ; 
And still the more and. more they drank, 

Their joy did more abound. 



THE POETICAL WOEKS OF 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise ; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 
Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



THE RIGS 0' BARLEY. 

Tune — "Corn rigs are honnie." 

[Two young women of the west, Anne Ronnld anJ Anne Blair, have each, by the district 
traditions, been claimed as the heroine of this early song.] 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

'Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me through the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down wi' right good will, 

Amaug the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace ! 
Her heart was beating rarely : 



ROBERT BURNS. 375 

Mj blessings on that tappy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly ! 
She ay shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear; 

I hae been merry drinkin' ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear; 

I hae been happy thinkin' : 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubled fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a', 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 



Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, 
An' corn rigs are bonnie : 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. 

Tune — " Galla- Water." 

I" My Montgomery's Peggy," says Burns, " was my deity for six or eight mouths : she 
had been bred in a style of life rather elegant: it cost me some heart-aches to get rid of 
the affair." The young lady listened to the eloquence of the poet, poured out in many an 
interview, and then quietly told him that she stood unalterably engaged to another.] 

Altho' my bed were in yon muir, 
Among the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be. 

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms, 

And winter nights were dark and rainy ; 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. 



376 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Were I a baron proud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting ready, 

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 

The shariu't with Montgomery's Peggy. 



THE MAUCIILINE LADY. 

Tune — " / h<i.d n hovee, I had nae mair." 

[The Mauchlino lady who won the poet's heart was Jean Armour: she loved to relate 
how the banl made her acquaintance : his dog ran across some linen webs which she was 
bleaching nmont; Mauchline gowans, and he apologized so handsomely that she took 
another look at him. To this interview the world owes some of our most impassioned 
strains.] 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was nae steady; 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 

A mistress still I had ay : 
But when I came roun' by Mauchline town. 

Not dreadin' any body, 
My heart was caught before I thought, 

And by a Mauchline lady. 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

Tune — " The detiks dang o'er my daddy >" 

["The Highland Lassie" was Mary Campbell, whose too early death the poet sung in 
strains that will endure while the language lasts. "She was," says Burns, "a warm- 
hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love."] 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair. 

Shall ever be my muse's care : 

Their titles a' are empty show ; 

Gie me my Highland lassie, 0. 

Within the glen sae bushy, 0, 
Aboon the plains sae rushy, 0, 
I set me down wi' right good-will, 
To sing my Highland lassie, 0. 



ROBERT BURNS. 377 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and you gardens fine, 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, 0. 

But fickle fortune frowns on mo, 
And I mauu cross the raging sea; 
But while my crimson currents flow, 
I'll love my Highland lassie, 0. 

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change. 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful Highland lassie, 0. 

For her I'll dare the billows' roar. 
For her I'll trace a distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, 0. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, 0. 

Farewell the glen sae bushy, ! 

Farewell the plain sae rushy, ! 

To other lands I now must go. 

To sing my Highland lassie, 0. 



PEGGY. 

[The heroine of this song is said to have been " Montgomery's Peggy."] 
Tune — " I had a horse, I had nae mair." 

Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns 
Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 

The moorcock springs on whirring wings, 
Amang the blooming heather : 

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 
Delights the weary farmer; 
32 «• 



378 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

And the moon shines briglit, when I rove at night. 
To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells ; 

The soaring hern the fountains ; 
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander : 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, 

The flutt'ring, gory pinion. 

But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow j 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And every happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest. 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs, 

Not autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me. 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 379 

THE RANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T. 

Tune — " East nook o' Fife." 

[The heroine of this humorous ditty was the mother of " Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought 
!e-s," a porsou whom the poet regarded, as he says, both for her form and her grace.] 

WHA mj babie-clouts will buy ? 
wha will tent me whea I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me where I lie ? — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

wha will own he did the fau't ? 
wha will buy the groanin' maut ? 
wha will tell me how to ca't ? 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

When I mount the creepie chair, 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair. 

The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin' fain ? 
Wha will kiss me o'er asain ? — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 



MY HEART AVAS ANCE. 

Tune — " To the iveavers gin ye go." 

["The chorus of this song," says Burns, in his note to the Museum, "is old. the rest is 
mine." The " bonuie, westlin weaver lad" is said to haye been one of the rivals of the 
poet iu the affections of a west landlady.] 

My heart was ance as blythe and free 

As simmer days were lang, 
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad 
Has gart me change my sang. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 



380 • THE POETICAL AV ORES OF 

My mither sent me to tlie town, 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin o't 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ; 
He took my heart as wi' a net, 

In every knot and thrum. 

I sat beside my warpin-wheel. 

And ay I ca'd it roun' ; 
But every shot and every knock. 

My heart it gae a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west 

Wi' visage pale and wan, 
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Convoy'd me thro' the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra soon 
Will ken as weel's mysel. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids. 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at night. 
To the weavers gin ye go. 



NANNIE. 

Tune — " 31 J Nannie, 0.' 



[Agnes Fleming, servant at Calcothill, inspired tliis fine song: she died at an advanced 
age, and was more remarkable for the beauty of her form than face. When questioned 
about the love of Burns, she smiled and said, '• Aye, atweel he made a great warli 
about me."j 

Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors and mosses many, 0, 

The wintry sun the day has closed, 
And I'll awa to Nannie, 0. 



ROBERT BURNS. 381 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shrill ; 

The night's baith uiirk and rainy, O ; 
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hills to Nannie, 0. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, : 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, 0. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 

As spotless as she's bonnie, : 
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, 

Nae purer is than Nannie, 0. 

A countiy lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, ; 
But what care I how few they be ? 

I'm welcome ay to Nannie, 0. 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 

An' I maun guide it cannie, ; 
But Avarl's gear ne'er troubles me. 

My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0. 

Our auld guidraan delights to view 

His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, ; 
But I'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh, 

An' has nae care but Nannie, 0. 

Come weel, come woe, I care ua by, 
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, : 

Nae ither care in life have I, 

But live, an' love my Nannie, 0. 



382 T H i: r E T 1 C i\ L W 11 K S OF 

A FRAGMENT. 

Tuno — "John Anderson my jo." 

[This vcrsp, written onrly, ;iml probably iutcndod for the starting verse of a song, was 
foiiuil among tbo papers of tbo poot. 

One night as I did wander, 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat nio down to ponder, 

TTpon an auld tree root : 
Aidd Ayr ran by before me, 

And bicker'd to the seas; 
A enshat crooded o'er nie, 

That echoed thro' the braes. 



BONNIE PE(J(JY ALISON. 

Tune— " 7/r<r«« o' lUdquhhldcr." 

[On those whom Burns lovotl, ho poured out songs witliout limit. T'eggy Alison is sniJ, 
by a western tradition, to bu Blontgomery's I'oggy, but this souma doubtful.] 

CHOUIIS. 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again; 

An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 
My bonnic Peggy Alison ! 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever niair defy them, O ; 
Young kings upon their htxnsel throne 

Are no sae blest as I am, O ! 

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp ni}' countless treasure, 0, 
I seek nae inair o' Heaven to share 

Than sic a moment's pleasure, ! 

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 
I swear, I'm thine for ever, ! — 



ROBERT BURNS. 383 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, ! 
I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again; 
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonuie Peggy Alison ! 



THERE'S NOUGHT BUT CARE. 

Tune — " Green <jroio the rashes." 

["Man was made when nature was but an apprentice ; but woman is the last and most 
perfect work of nature," says an old writer, in a rare old book : a passaf^e which expresscf 
the scntiuient of Burns; yet it is all but certain, that the Ploughman Bard was unac- 
quainted with "Cupid's VVhirlygig," where these words are to he found.] 



Green grow the rashes, ! 

Green grow the rashes, ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 

Are spent amang the lasses, 0. 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han', 
In every hour that passes, : 

What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere ua for the la^sses, 0. 

The warl'ly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, 0; 

An' tho' at last ihey catch them fast. 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, 0. 

But gie me a canny hour at e'en. 
My arms about my dearie, ; 

An' warl'ly cares, an' warl'ly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, 0. 

For you sac douce, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, : 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, 0. 



3*^4 Till: POETICAL WORKS OF 

Auld Nature swears tlio lovel}^ dears 

Her noblest work she classes, : 

Her 'prentice han' she try'd on man, 

An' then she made the lasses, 0. 

Green grow the rashes, ! 

Clreen grow the rashes, ! 
The sweetest lunirs tliat e'er I spend 
Are spent amang the lasses, 0. 



MY JEAN! 

Tune — '' The Northern Lass." 
[The laily on -whom this passionato verso whs writtou was Joan Armour.] 

TllouQU cruel fate should bid us part, 

Far as the pole and line, 
Her dear idea round my heart. 

Should tenderly entwine. 
Though mountains rise, and deserts howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 



R B I N. 

Tune — " Daiiidf Davie." 



[Stothard painted a olovor littlo picture from tliis c-haraoterisfic ditty : the cannio wife, 
it was evident, saw in Uobin's palm sometliiiii; whicli tieliled her, and a curious iutelligoneo 
sparkloil in the oyos of her gossips, j 

There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
But whatna day o' whatna style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' llobin. 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Eantin' rovin', rantiu' rovin'; 
Eobin was a rovin' boy, 
Kantiu' roviu' Kob'u I 



R B E R T BURNS. 385 

Our monarch's liindinost year but aue 
Was five-aucl twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a Wast o' Janwar wiu' 
Blew hansel in on llobin. 

The gossip keekit in his loof, 
Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly boy will be nae coof, 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But ay a heart aboon them a' ; 
He'll be a credit to us a'. 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But sure as three times three mak nine, 
I see by ilka score and line. 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So Iccze me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt you gar, 
The bonnie lasses lie aspar, 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur, 
So blessin's on thee, Robin ! 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 



HER FLOWING LOCKS. 

Tune — (unknown.) 



[One (lay — it is tradition that speaks — Burns had his foot in tho stirrup to return from 
Ayr to Mauchline, when a young lady of great beauty rode up to tho inn, and ordered 
refreshments for Iier servants : ho made these lines at tho moment, to lieep, he said, so 
much beauty in his memory.] 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing ; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her! 
33 



886 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
O, what a feast lier bonuie mou' ! 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimsou still diviuer. 



LEAVE NOVELS. 

Tune — " MauchUne belles." 
[Who these Muuchline belles were the bard in other Terse informs us :- 

"Miss Miller is fine, Miss MarUland's divine, 

Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw ; 
There's beauty and fortune to get with Miss Morton, 
But Armour's the jewel for me o' them a'."] 

LEAVE novels, ye MauchUne belles, 
Ye're safer at your spinning-wheel; 

Such witching books are baited hooks 
For rakish rooks, like Rob Mossgiel. 

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
They make your youthful fancies reel ; 

They heat your brains, and fire your veins, 
And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, 
A heart that warmly seems to feelj 

That feeling heart but acts a part — 
'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress, 

Are worse than poison' d darts of steel ; 

The frank address and politesse 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 



ROBERT BURNS. 38t 

YOUNG PEGGY. 

Tune — "Last time I cam o'er the muir. 

[In these verses Burns, it is said, bade farewell to one on whom he had, according to his 
own account, wasted eight months of courtship. We hear uo more of Montgomery's 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 

Her blush is like the morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass, 

With early gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshone the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower, 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams, 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has graced them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them : 
Her smile is, as the evening, mild. 

When feather'd tribes are courting, 
And little lambkins wanton wild. 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe. 

Such sweetness would relent her, 
As blooming spring unbends the brow 

Of surly, savage winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain. 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And fretful envy grins in vain 

The poison' d tooth to fasten 

Ye powers of honour, love, and truth, 

From every ill defend her; 
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her: 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame 

Responsive in each bosom. 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



'^S8 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

THE CURE FOR ALL CARE. 

Tunc — "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's jlij." 

[Tarbolton LoJge, of which tho Poot was a menilier, was noted for its socialities. Ma- 
sonic lyrics are all of a dark aud mystic order; and those of Burns are scarcely an 
exception.] 

No cliureliman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statcsiiiau nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business, contriving to snare — 
For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of uiy care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; 

I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low; 

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brother — his horse ; 
There centum per centum, the cit with his purse ; 
But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air ! 
There a big-bcllied bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
.1 found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; — 
]^ut the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

"Life's cares they are comforts,'" — a maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gnwn ; 
And faith I agree Avith th' old prig to a hair; 
For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'u of care. 

ADDED IN A MASON LODGE'. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, 
The honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
IMay every true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care ! 



1 Young's Xiiiht Thou":hts. 



ROBERT BURNS. ^^^ 



ELIZA. 

Tune — " GHdcroy." 

[My late excellent friend, .Tohn Gait, informed me that the Eliza of this song was his 
relative, aud that her name was Elizabeth Barbour.] 

From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel Fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans roaring wide 

Between my love and me. 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ! 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear. 

We part to meet no more ! 
The latest throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by. 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 

And thine that latest sitih ! 



THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

Tune — " Shaivuloi/." 

["This song, wrote by Mr. Burns, was sung by him in the Kilmarnock-Kilwinning 
Lodge, in 1786, and given by him to Mr. Parker, who was master of the Lodge." These 
interesting words are on the original, in the poet's handwriting, in the possession of Mr. 
Ciabriel Neil, of Glasgow.] 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 

To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another 

To sit in that honoured station. 
Eve little to say, but only to pray. 

As praying's the ton of your fashion ; 
A prayer from the muse you well may excuse, 

'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 
33 « 



300 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, 

Who marked each element's border; 
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, 

Whose sovereign statute is order; 
Within this dear mansion may wayward contention 

Or withered envy ne'er enter ; 
May secrecy round be the mystical bound, 

And brotherly love be the centre. 



M E N I E. 

Tune — "Julnini/'s yreij hreeks." 



[Of the lady who iiippiroil this song no one has given any account : It first appeared in 
the second edition of the poet's works, and as the chorus was written by an Edinburgh 
gentleman, it has been surmised that the song was a matter of friendship rather than 
of the heart.] 

Again rejoicing- nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 
And maun I still on Menie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e ? 
For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be. 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 

In vain to me the vi'lets spring; 
111 vain to me, in glen or shaw, 

The mavis and the liutwhite sing. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tcntie seedsman stalks; 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wanks. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry. 

The stately swan majestic swims. 
And everything is blest but I. 



ROBERT BURNS. 391 

The sheep-herd steeks his faukling slap, 
And owre the iiioorluiid whistles shrill ; 

Wi' wild, unequal, waiid'ring step, 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 

Blythe waukcns by the daisy's side, 
And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 

A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 

And raging bend the naked tree : 
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul. 
When nature all is sad like me ! 
And maun 1 still on Meuie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? 
For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be. 



THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S 
LODGE, TARBOLTON. 

Tune — " Gvod-iu(jlit, und joy he wi' you a'." 

[Burns, it is said, sung this song in the St. James's Lodge of Tarbolton, when his chost 
■nas ou the wiiy to Greenock : men are yet living who had the honour of hearing him— 
tht concluding verse affected the whole lodge.] 

Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favour'd, ye eulighten'd few. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie. 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba'. 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 

Oft have I met your social band. 

And spent the cheerful, festive night ; 

Oft, honour'd with supreme command. 
Presided o'er the sons of lioht : 



302 T II r, ro i; r 1 1' A 1. nv o r. k s of 

Ami h\ (Iia( liirr(i;;l_vi>liii' briu'lit, 

Whu'li 110110 but onil'tsiuon ovor snw ! 

Strong iiuMirrv on my lu>;irt sliiiil writo 
Tlioso liaiipy scH>iu>s whrii I'ar awa'. 

I\lav tVot'doiu, linrmonv, and lovo 

I'liito von in I lie L^rainl dosiiiii, 
]{oiioath tir Oiiiuiscioiit Kyo abovo, 

'IMio jilorious Arcbitoot divine ! 
Tbat you may koop tli' iinoninu; line, 

Still risiiiii' by tbe jdummot's law, 
Till order briulit coniiilelely sliine, 

Sball be my |)ray'v wlien tar awa'. 

And you farewell ! wbose merits elaim, 

Justly, tliat biii'liest bailee io wear! 
Ileav'u bless your boiiour'd, noble name, 

To masonry and Seotia dear ! 
A last request ]iennit me bere, 

^Vben yearly ye assiMiible a', 
One round — 1 ask it with a tear. — 

To hiin, the Hard that's far awa'. 



ON OESSNOOK BANKS. 

Tuno — '' f/ hv he a hutrhrr neat nmi trim." 

[Tlioiv !\iv lu.iiiv vni'iiidons of this .•joiii;. wlii.h w.I'J t'nsi pi'mlcil h\ ("'roMioU I'nnu 
tlu> oviil I'oiiimuiiiiation of a (ilasi;o\v liiily, oa whoso ohiuiiis tbo poot, in oailv lil'o, com- 
poMoi.1 It. I 

On Oessnoek banks a lassie dwells ; 

Could 1 deseribe her shape and mien ; 
C)ur lasses a' she I'ar exeels, 

An" she has twa sparkliiiir roiiuish eeu. 

She's sweeter than tht' mornim;- dawn 

When risiiij;' IMuobns tirst is seen, 
Ami dew-drops twinkle t>'er the lawn; 

An' she has twa sparkliiii;' roguish een. 



110 p. K 11 T 15 U U NS. 

Slu''s siMtolv liki' YOU yimtlil'iil :ish, 
That grows the cowslip braes betwoon, 

Aiul drinks the stroiiiii with vigour iVosh ; 
An' sill! has twa sparkling roguish oou. 

Sho's spotless liko (he ilow'ring (horn, 

With flow'rs so white and loaves so green, 

"When purest in tlu> dewy morn; 

An' she has twa sparkling roguisli een. 

Her looks are liki' tlu> vernal May, 
When ovi'iiing lMiul)ns shines serene, 

"While birds rejoiee on every spray — 
An' she has twii sparkling roguish c>en. 

Her hair is lik(> the curling mist 

That elind)s the mountain-sides at e'en, 

When flow'r-reviving rains are past; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. 

Her forehead's like the sliow'ry bow. 
When gleaming sunbeams intervene. 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish cvn. 

Her eheeks are like yon crimson gem, 
Tho prid(> of all the flow'ry scene, 

Just opening on its thorny stem ; 

An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. 

Her teeth -avc liki^ the nightly snow 
When pale the morning rises keen, 

While hid the nmrnuiring streamlets flow; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. 

Her lips are liki! yon cherries ripe, 

That sunny walls from IJoreas screen — 

They tempt the taste and charm tho sight 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. 

Her tiH'th ai'c lil<e a lloek of sh(>ep, 
^Vith tU'cces newly washen clean, 



8!)3 



304 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

That slowly mount tlie rising steep; 
An' she has twa glancin' roguish eeu. 

Iler breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 

Wheu Phoebus siuks behind the seas ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. 

Iler voice is like the ev'uing thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish eeu. 

But it's not her air, her form, her face. 
The' matching beauty's fabled queen, 

'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace. 
An' chiefly in her roguish een. 



1\I A R Y ! 

Tunc — " Blue Buiiiiets." 



[In the original manuscript Burns calls this song '• A Prayer for Mary:" his Ilighlanil 
Mai-y is supposed to he the inspirer.] 

Powers celestial ! whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair. 
While in distant climes I wander, 

Let my Mary be your care : 
Let her form sae fair and faultless. 

Fair and faultless as your own. 
Let my JMary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

j\Iake the gales you waft around her 

Soft and peaceful as her breast ; 
lireathing in the breeze that fans her, 

Soothe her bosom into rest : 
liuardian angels ! protect her, 

When in distant lands I roam ; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me, 

jMake her bosom still my home. 



ROBERT BURN S. 305 

THE LASS OF BALLOCIIMYLE. 

Tune — " Jlfins F(»-hen'H Farewell to Banff." 

[A[i.«s Alexniider, of BallochmyU!, as the poet tells her in a letter, dated November. 17S6. 
inspired this popular sous. lie clianccd to meet her in one of his favourite walks on the 
banks of the Aj'r, and the fine scene and the lovely lady set the muse to work. Mi<s 
Alexander, perhaps vmaecustomed to this forward wooin;; of the muse, allowed the olTer- 
in^ to remain unnoticed for a time : it is now in a costly frame, and hxmg in her chamber 
— as it deserves to be.] 

'TwAS even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
The zephyrs wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the while, 
Except where greenwood echoes rang 

Amang the braes o' Ballochniyle ! 

With careless step I onward stray'd. 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy; 
Her look was like the morning's eye. 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flow'ry Rlay, 

And i5weet is night in autumn mild ; 
When roving thro' the garden gay. 

Or wand' ring in the lonely wild; 
But woman, nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile; 
Even there her other works are foil'd 

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

0, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scutland's plain, 



o.'6 THE I'OETICAL WORKS OF 

Tliro' woary winter's wind and rain, 
With joy, with rapture, I wciuld toil; 

And nightly to uiy bosom strain 
The bonnic lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Then pride nii<j,ht elindj the slippery steep, 

Where fame and honours lofty shine: 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine; 
Give ine the cot below the pine, 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
And ev'ry day have joys divine 

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



THE GLOOMY NIGHT. 

Tunc — " Rodin Ciistlc." 

(•'I h.'iil tnkon," siiys liurns, '-tlu' last farowi'll of my friciuls, my cliost was mi (he 

ruad to lireeimck, iiiul 1 hail iMUiposoil the last sunt; 1 shoulil ever mea-sui-e in Calixluiiia — 

' The !j;l(iomy iii^ht is gatlioring' fast.' "] 

Till'; gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast; 
Von murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the jilain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys nu^et secun; ; 
Wliile here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The .\utuntii mourns her rip'ning corn, 
]Jy early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky. 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs uiy blood to lu'ar it rave — ■ 
1 think iipon the stt>rmy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 



ROBE 11 T BURNS. 397 

'Tis not the ,suri;iiip; billow's roar, > 

'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear ! 
]}ut round niy heart the ties are bound, 
That heart trauspierc'd with many a wound; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell old Coila's hills and dales, 
Ilor heathy moors and winding vales; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuini;' past, unha])py loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, niy love with those — 
The bursting tears my heart declare; 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 



W II All DID YE GET. 

Tunc — " /lonnle Dundee." 

IThifiisnno nf tho first soiip;s wliich liunis coiiiiimiiicati'il to .loluismrs Miisiciil Museum : 
tW. Hliu-lint; vi;rsu is partly old iiiid iiiu'tly mow : llic second is wliolly liy liis li;iii(l.| 

WIIAR did ye get that liauvcr meal bannock '^ 
silly blind body, dinna ye sec? 

1 gat it frao a young brisk sodger laddie. 

Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! 

Aft has he doudl'd me up on his knee; 
Jlay Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his babie and me ! 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippio. 
My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie ! 

Thy smiles are sac like my blythe sodger laddie, 

Thou's ay the dearer and dearer to me ! 
34 



308 THE POETICAL W R K S OF 

But I'll big a bower on yon bonnic banks, 
Where Tay rins winiplhi' by sae clear; 

And I'll deed tliee in the tartan sae fine, 
And niak thee a man like thy daddie dear. 



THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

Tune — " Jlfit;/'/!/ Laitthr." 

[Most of this song is by Burns : his fancy was fillpd with imaijps of matrimonial joy 
or iiifrilic'ity, and he liad them ever ready at the call of the musu. It was first printed in 
the Musical Museum.] 

I MARRIED with a scoldinij; wife 

The fourteenth of November; 
She made me weary of my life, 

By one unruly member. 
Lonji; did I bear the heavy yoke, 

And many griefs attended ; 
But to my comfort be it spoke, 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We liv'd full one-and-twenty years 

A man and wife together; 
At length from me her coiirse she steer'd, 

And gone I know not whither : 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter, 
Of all the women in the world,. 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her; 
But sure her soul is not in hell, 

The deil could ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft, 

And imitating thunder ; 
For why, — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing; the clouds asunder. 



ROBERT BURiNS. 399 

COME DOAVN THE BACK STAIRS. 

Tune — " W/iiKtlc, and I'll come to you, my lad." 

[The air of this song was composed by John Bruce, a Dumfries fiddler. Burns gave 
niK)th(?r and happier version to tlie worli of Thomson: this was written for the Museum 
of Johnson, where it was first published.] 

CllOltus. 

whistle, and I'll coinc 

To you, my lad ; 
whistle, and I'll coine 

To you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mither 

Should baith gae inad, 
O whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad. 

Come down the hack stairs 

When ye come to court mej 
Come down the back stairs 

When ye come to court me; 
Come down the back stairs, 

And let uaebody see. 
And come as ye were na 

Coming; to me. 



I AM MY MAMMY'S AE BAIRN. 

Tune — " I'm o'er young to marry yet." 

[The title, and part of the chorus only of this song are old ; the rest is by Burns, and 
was written for Johnson.] 

I AM my mammy's ae bairn, 

Wi' unco folk I weary. Sir; 
And lying in a man's bed, 

I'm fley'd it mak me eerie, Sir. 
I'm o'er young to marry yet; 

I'm o'er young to marry yet; 
I'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
To tak me frae my mammy yet. 



400 T 11 !■: V i: tic a i. w o u k s of 

ll(illi>\vin;is is coiiu' ami <^;nio, 

Tlie iii<;lit,s aro laiiu' in Miiiter, Sir; 

Ami you an' I in ao bed, 

In ti'outh, 1 dare iia ventuiv, Sir. 

Fu' Icnui and shrill the fnxsty wind, 

Blaws through the loafloss tinuner, Sir; 
]5ut, it' yo conic this gate again, 
I'll aidder be gin sininior, Sir. 
I'm o'or young to n\arry yet; 

I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 
I'm o'er young, 'twad be a sin 
To talc me tVae my mammy yet. 



BONNIE LASSIE, WILL YE GO. 

Time—" '/'//<• /?/-•/,>• of Al'cr/,1,1,/." 

[All old strain, oallod " Tlio Ilivlis of .Miorsi'Min," was tlio foroi-uniior of this swpot song : 
it was writton, the poet says, stamliii;; umlor tlie ViiUs of Allicrlolily, urar Monoss, la 
IVi'thsliiii'. ilui'iiit;- ono oftlio tours wliii'li l\i> iiiailo to tlio uortli, in tho year 1787.] 

I'llilltl S. 

Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
AVill yc go, will ye go; 
IJonnie lassie, will ye go 

To the birks of Aberteldy ? ' 

Now simmer blinl;s on ilowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal stri>amlet plays; 
Come, let us sjiend the lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

The little birdies blithely sing. 
While o'er tlieir heads the hazels hing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing- 
In the birks of Abt'rfeldy. 

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, 
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's, 
C)'erluing wl' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 



]i B K U T BURN S. 401 

Tlio lioiiry clilFs uro crown'd wi' flowers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours, 
And risinj^', wects wi' misty showers 
Tlie birk.s of Abcrfeldy. 

Let Fortune's ^ifts ut random flee, 
Tliey ne'er sliall draw a wish frae nie, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
lu the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, will yc go. 
Will ye <i;o, will ye go; 
]ionnie lassie, will ye go 
I'o the birks of Aberfeldy? 



MACPIIERSON'S FAREWELL. 

Tunc — " M'PhcfHon'a Rant." 

[This vohnment and dariiif; hoiir had its orivjiti In an oldor and inferior Ktruin, record- 
ing tlio fmilinfjs of a noted freebooter when brought to "justify his deedh on the gallows- 
tree" at luveruesH.J 

FarewelFj, yc dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie ! 
Macpherson's time will not be long 
On yonder gallows-tree. 

Sac rantingly, sae wantonly. 
Sac dauntingly gaed he ; 
He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round. 
Below the gallows-tree. 

Oh, what is death but parting breath ? 

On many a bloody plain 
I've dar'd his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 

And bring to mo my sword ; 
And there's no a man in all Scotland, 

]Jut I'll brave him at a word. 

34* 



402 THE rOETICAL V,' R K S OF 

I've lived a life of sturt aud strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart, 

Aud uot avenged be. 

Now farewell light — thou sunshine bright, 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distaiu his name, 
The wretch that dares not die ! 
Sae rautingly, sae wantonly, 
Sae dauntingly gacd he; 
He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round. 
Below the irallows tree. 



BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER. 

Tune— ''6'«?/a Water." 

[Bnrns found this song in the collection of Herd; added the first verse, made other but 
not material emendations, and published it in Johnson : in 1793 he wrote another version 
for Thouison.) 

CHORUS. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love thro' the water. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie j 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou'. 
The mair I kiss she's ay my dearie. 

O'er you bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss amang the heather; 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 
And follow my love thro' the water. 

Down aiuang the broom, the broom, 
Down amang the broom, my dearie. 

The lassie lo^t a silken snood, 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. 



ROBERT BURNS. 403 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water; 

braw lads of Galla Water : 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love thro' the water. 



STAY, MY CIIARMEK. 

Tune—" An Gille duhh ciar dhubh." 

[The air of this song was pickeil up by the poet in one of his northern tours: his lli..h. 
laud excursions coloured many of his lyric compositions.] 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Cruel, cruel, to deceive me ! 

AVell you know how much you grieve me • 

Cruel charmer, can you c;o ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted : 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



THICKEST NIGHT, O'ERHANG MY DWELLING. 

Tune — " Strathallan's Lament." 
heTv^s ^;7"";,^'™"'''^"^°' -^-°^ <W« ^o"g oon,n>emorates, was William Drummond : 



Thickest night,, o'erhang my dwelling ! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 

Roaring by my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowin"' 
Busy haunts of base mankind. 



404 THE r E T I C A L W R K S OF 

Western breezes softly blowing, 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of Right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 

Honour's war we strongly waged. 
But the heavens denied success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
Not a hope that dare attend, 

The wild world is all before us — ' 
But a world without a friend. 



MY HOGG IE. 

Tunc — " What will I do gin my Ilofjrjie die?" 

[Burns was struck with the iiastoral wildncss of this Liddesd.ile air, and wrote these 
words to it for the Museum : the lirst line only is old.] 

What will I do gin my Hoggie die ? 

]My joy, my pride, my Hoggie ! 
My only beast, I had nae mac, 

And vow but I was vogie ! 
The lee-lang night we watch' d the fauld. 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; 
But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa', 

The blitter frac the boggie. 
The tod reply'd upon the hill, 

I trembled for my Hoggie. 
When day did daw, and cocks did craw. 

The morning it was foggie; 
An' unco tyke lap o'e the dyke, 

And maist has kill'd my Hoggie. 



ROBERT BURNS. 405 

IIER DADDIE FORBAD. 

Tuno — " Jumpin' John." 

[This is one of the old songs which Kitson accuses Burns of amending for the Aluseum : 
little of it, however, is his, save a touch here and there — but they are Buvus's touches.] 

Her daddie forbad, her miuiiie forbad ; 

Forbidden she wadna be : 
She wadna trow't, tlie browst she brew'd 
Wad taste sae bittcrlie. 

The laug lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie, 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

' A cow and a cauf, a yowc and a hauf, 

And thretty gude shillin's and three ; 
A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man's dochter, 
The lass wi' the bonnie black e'c. 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 
The laug lad they ca' Jumpin' John 
Be<>:uilcd the bonnie lassie. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

Tune — "Cold blows the loiml." 

["The chorus of this song," says the poet, in his notes on the Scottish lyrics, "is old, 
the two stanzas are mine." The air is ancient, and was a favourite with Mary Stuart, the 
queen of William the Thii-d.] 

CHORUS. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early; 
When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae cast to west, 

The drift is driving sairly; 
Sae loud and shill I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



406 



THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The birds sit chittcring in the thorn, 

A' day they fare but sparely; 
And king's the night frae e'en to morn — 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early; 
When a' the hills are cover' d wi' snaw, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND HOVER. 

Tunc — " Morag." 

[The Young Ilighlaml Rover of this strain is supposed by some to be the CheTalier, and 
witli more probability by others, to be a Gordon, as the song was composed in conseq^ueuce 
of the poet's visit to -'bonnie Castle-Gordon," in September, 17S7.] 

Loud blaw the frosty breezes, 

The snaws the mountains cover; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland rover 

Far wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heavcii be his warden : 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle-Gordon ! 

The trees now naked groaning, 

Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging. 
The birdies dowie moaning, 

Shall a' be blithely singing. 

And every flower be springing, 
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-laug day, 

When by his mighty Warden 
My youth's returned to fair Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle-Gordon. 



ROBERT BURNS 407 

IIEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

Tune—" The DusUj Bliller." 

[The Dusty Miller is an old strain, modified for tlio Museum by Burns : it is a happy 
pecimon of liis taste and skill in making the new look like the old.] 

Hey. the dusty miller, 

And his dusty coat; 

lie will win :i shilling, 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat, 

Dusty was the colour, 
Dusty was the kiss 

That I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller. 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Fills the dusty peck, 

Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THERE WAS A LASS. 

Tune — " Duncan Davison." 

[There are several other versions of Duncan Davison, wliich it is more delicate to allude 
to than to quote : this one is in the Jluseum.] 

There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

And she held o'er the moors to spin; 
There was a lad that follow'd her, 

They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
The moor was driegh, and Meg was skiegn. 

Her favour Duncan could na win ; 
For wi' the roke she wad him knock. 

And ay she shook the temper-pin. 



408 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor, 

A burn was clear, a glen was green, 
Upon the banks they eas'd their shanks, 

And ay she set the wheel between : 
But Duncan swore a haly aith. 

That Meg should be a bride the morn. 
Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith. 

And flang them a' out o'er the burn. 

We'll big a house, — a wee, wee house. 

And we will live like king and queen, 
Sae blythe and merry we will be 

When ye set by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk; 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonnie lass, 

And ay be welcome back again. 



TIIENIEL MENZIES' BONNIE MARY. 

Tune — " The Ruffian's Rant." 

[Burns, it is believed, Tvrote this song during his first Highland tour, when he danced 
among the northern dames, to the tune of '• Bab at the Bowstcr," till the morning sun 
rose and reproved them from the top of Ben Lomond.] 

In coming by the brig o' Dye, 

At Darlet we a blink did tarry; 
As day was dawiu in the sky. 

We drank a health to bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary; 

Theuiel Menzies' bonnie Mary; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white. 
Her haflfet locks as brown's a berry ; 

And ay, they dimpl't wi' a smile, 
The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 



ROBERT BURNS. 409' 

We lap and danced the lee lang day, 

Till piper lads were wae and weary; 
But Charlie gat the spring to pay, 
For kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Meuzies' bonnie Mary; 

Theniel Menzies' bonnie Mary; 
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 



THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 

Tune — '' Bhaniiernck dhon na chri." 

[These verses were composed on a charming young lady, Charlotte Hamilton, sister to 
thr poet's friend. Gavin Hamilton of Mauehline, residing, when the song was written, at 
Harvieston, on the banks of the Devon, in the county of Clackmannan.] 

HoAV pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, 

With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair ! 
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 

Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 

In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew ; 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn ; 
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn I 
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies 

And England, triumphant, display her proud Rose : 
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys. 

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



35 



410 T II E V ( ) K T 1 C A L W 11 K S OF 

WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN GRAY. 

Tune — " Didicait Grai/." 

[The original Duncnn Gray, out of wliich tlie present strain was extracted for Johnson, 
hnil no rii;ht to ln' called a lad of grace: another version, and iu u hapiiior mood, was 
written for Thomson.] 

Weauy fa' you, Duncan dray — 

Ila, ha, the i2,irdiii o't ! 
Wao gac by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ma, lia, the girdin o't ! 
When a' the lave gae to their i>hiy, 
Then I maun sit the Icc-hing day, 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae. 

And a' for the girdin o't! 

]?onnic was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
The girdin brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint my curch, and baith my shoon ; 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 

Wae on the bad girdin o't! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
I'se bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 
The beast again can bear us baith, 
And auld IMess John will mend the skaith, 

And clout the bad girdin o't. 



ROBERT BURNS. 411 

THE PLOUGHMAN. 

Tunc — " Up wi' the i^lovghman." 

[The old words, of wliich tliesu in the Museum are an altered and amended vcrsJon, are 
in the collection of Herd. J 

The ploui^linian he's a boiinie lad, 

His luiiKl is ever true, jo. 
His garters knit below his knee, 
His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

Then up wi' him uiy ploughman lad, 

And hey my merry ploughman ! 
Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'cu, 

lie's aften wat and weary; 
Cast oflf the wat, put on the dry. 

And gae to bed, my dearie ! 

I will wash my ploughman's hose, 

And I will dress his o'erlay; 
I will mak my ploughman's bed, 

And cheer him late and early. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 

I hae been at Saint Johnston ; 
The bonniest sight that e'er I saw 

Was the ploughman laddie danoiii'. 

Snaw-white stockins on his legs, 

And siller buckles glancin' ; 
A gude blue bonnet on his head — 

And 0, but he was handsome ! 

Commend me to the barn-yard. 

And the corn-mou, man ; 
I never gat my coggie fou, 

Till I met wi' the ploughman. 

Up wi' him my ploughman lad, 

Ami hey my merry ploughman ! 
Of a' the trades that I do ken. 
Commend me to the ploughman. 



412 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN. 

Tuue— "/% tutii, taiti." 

[Of this song, tlie first and second verses are by Burns: the closing Terse belongs to a 
strain threatening Britain with an invasion from the iron-handed Charles XII. of Sweden, 
to avenge his own wrongs and restore the line of the Stuarts.] 

Landlady, count the lawin, 

The day is near the dawin ; 

Ye're a' blind drunk, boys, 

And I'm but jolly fou. 

Hey tutti, taiti, 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 

Cog an' ye were ay fou. 
Cog an' ye were ay fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you 
If ye were ay fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the king, boys, 
And the companie ! 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

"Wha's fou now ? 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. 

Tune — " j\Iacgregor of JR lira's Lament." 

["I composed those verses," says Burns, "on Miss Isabella JI'Leod, of Raza, alluding to 
her feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of her sister's 
husband, the late Earl of Loudon, in 1796."] 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing. 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd deploring — 
" Farewell hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 



ROBERT BURNS. 413 

Hail, thou glooni}' night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow ! 

'' O'or the past too fondly wandering, 
On the hopeless future pondering; 
Chilly grief my life-hlood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing. 
Gladly how would I resign thee, 
And to dark oblivion join thee I" 



now LONG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT. 

To a GdcUc Air. 

(Composed for the Museum: the air of this affecting strain is true Highland: Burns 
tliough not a musician, had a fine natural taste in the matter of national melodies.] 

How long and dreary is the night 

When I am frae my dearie ! 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. 

When I think on the happy days 

I spent wi' you, my dearie. 
And now what lands between us lie. 

How can I but be eerie ! 
And now what lands between us lie, 

How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
It was na sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi' my dearie. 
35* 



414 THE POETICAL W 11 K S OF 

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. 

Tunc — " Dniimiou dithh." 

I'l'Iio ;iiv of tliis sniifc is from tlic lli;j;lil:iiiils : tlu' vim-sos worn '.vrilton in oomiiliinont 
to the feoliiit;s of Mrs. M'liauchliui, whoso luisli:iiul wiis iiii olUoor serving in tlic K.ist 
Indies.] 

31 USING on the roaring ocean, 
Which divides my love and me; 

Wearying heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weal where'er he bo. 

Hope and fear's alternate hillnw 

Yielding late to nature's law, 
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 

Talk of him that's far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never wi>unded, 

Ye w'lio never shed ;i tear, 
Carc-uivtroubled, joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend nie; 

Powny sleep, the curtain draw ; 
Spirits kind, again attend me, 

Talk of him that's far awa ! 



BLITHE WAS SHE. 

Tune — " Aiulro am/ hit cutli/ 'juii." 



[Tho heroine of this sontr, Kniiliomia INIin'ray of Lintroso, was justly c.nlled the ''Flower 
of Stnitlnnoro:" shi> i,-! now widow of Ijoni Motlivon.onoof tlio Scotlisl\ judges, and mother 
of a line family. The song was written at Oehtertyre, in .lune. ITS".] 



]>lithe, blithe and merry was she, 
HIithe was she but and ben : 

IJlithe by tho banks of Eru, 
And blithe in Glcnturit glen. 

Bv Am-literlyrt' grows the aik, 

()n Vari'ow banks (he birkeii shaw 



ROBE 11 T 15 URNS. 41^ 

But Plieiiiit' who ;i lioimier lass 
'lluiii Id-acs (if \ ariMw over saAV. 

Iler looks were like a flow'er in May, 

Iler smile was like a siinnior morn; 
She tripped by the hanks of l<]rn, 

As lii^lit 's a hinl upmi a thorn. 

ITcr bonnie face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
The eveniiit;- sun was nci'er sae sweet, 

As was the blink o' I'hemie's ee. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, 

And o'er the Lowlands I liae boon; 
]^tt Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 

Blithe was she but and ben : 
Blithe by the banks of Ern, 
And blithe iu Glenturit glcu. 



THE ELUDE llED KOSE AT YULE MAY BLAW. 

Tunc — " To daiuiton inc." 

[Tho .Tacobito stniiii of '"I'o (liuiiiti)ii mo," must have; bcoii in thu mind of tlio poet 
wlioii hy wrotu this pitliy lyric for tlio Museuni.J 

The blude red rose at Yule may blaw, 

The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, 

The frost may freeze the deepest sea; 

But an auld man shall never daunton me. 
To daunton me, and me so young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue. 
That is tho thing you ne'er shall see; 
For an auld man shall never dauuton me. 

For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut. 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 



416 THE POETICAL AY R K S OF 

His gear niaj bu}- him kyc and yowcs, 
His gear may buy him glens and knowcs; 
l^ut inc ho shall not buy nor foe, 
For an auld man shall never dauntou nie. 

He hirples twa fa\dd as he dow, 
Wi' his tcethless gab and his auld bold pow, 
And the rain rains down frae his red blccr'd ce- 
That old man shall never d;uinton me. 
To dannton me, and nic sae young, 
AVi' his f'auso heart and flattering tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see; 
For an auld man shall never dauntou me. 



COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE. 

Tunc — " O'er tlir ii-atcr to Charlie." 

fTho second stiinza of thi? fonir. anil noiu-ly all the third, aiv by lUu-ns. !Many son^s, 
somo of nu'i'it, on tbo same suliject, and to tlio same air, wore in other days current iu 
Scotlaud.] 

Come boat me o'er, eome row me o'er, 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
I'll gie Jt»hn Koss another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

"We'll o'er the water to Charlie; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 

Tho' some there be abhor him : 
But 0, to see auld Nick gaun hame, 

Aud Charlie's faes before him ! 

I swear aud vow by moon and stars, 
Aud the sun that shines so early, 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 

I'd die as aft for Charlie. 



ROBERT BURNS. 417 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 

We'll o'ev the water to Charlie; 
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 

And live or die with Charlie ! 



A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. 

Tunc—" The Ruse-hud." 

[The " Rose-bud" of these sweet verses was Jliss Jean Cruikshank, afterwards Mrs. Ilen- 
derson,daughter of AVilliam Cruikshank, of St. James's Square, one of the masters of the 
High School of Edinburgh: she is also the subject of a poem equally sweet.] 

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 

All on a dewy morning. 
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled. 
In a' its crimson glory spread. 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 

It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning. 
She soon shall see her tender brood. 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 

Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, 
On trembling string or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 

That tends thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watch' d thy early morning. 



418 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE. 

Tuno — " Jiiiltliii', roarin' WH^ic." 

[•'Tho liero of tliis chant," says lUinis, " was ono of tl>o wortbiost. follovvs in tho world 
— ^Villiani l>unl>ai% Ks(i., WiiU>r to tlui Sij;net, Kdinbui'uh. and Colonel of the Croclmllau 
(!or|).s — a dub of wits, who took that titlu at tin; time of raisin^' tho fonciblo ivgiuieuts.''j 

RATTLIn', roariii' Willie, 

0, he held to the fair, 
Au' for to sell his fiddle. 

An' buy some other ware j 
But parting wi' his fiddle, 

The saut tear blint his ce ; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye' re welcome hauie to me ! 

Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

sell your fiddle sac fine ; 

Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If I should sell my fiddle. 

The warl' would think I was mad ; 
For mony a rantin' day 

JMy fiddle and I hae had. 

As I cam by Crochallan, 

1 canuily keekit ben — 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sittin' at yon board en' ; 
Sittinp; at yon board en'. 

And amang good companie ; 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Yc'rc welcome liamc to me ! 



ROUE 11 T 13 U il N S. 419 

BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS. 

Tune — "Neil G<iw'n Lamcntatlon'for Aljerc<(tr)ii/." 

["This song," says tlio poet, "I composted on one of tlio moat ncconiplishod of womoii, 
Miis IVj^'gy Chalmers that was, now Mrs. Lewis Ilay, of Forbes and Co.'s biiuk, Edin- 
burjjU." She now lives at I'au, in the south of P'rance.] 

Where, braving angry winter's storms, 

The lut'ty Ochcls rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes; 
As one wlu) by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam, 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

}31est be tlie wild, sequestcr'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survcy'd, 

When first I felt their power ! 
The tyrant Death, Avith grim control, 

May seize my fleeting breath 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



T II? B I E ]) U N B A R. 

Tunc—" Jolnnrij SI' Gill." 



[Woowe the air of this song tooneJolniny M'Gill.afuldlor of CJirvan, who bestowed hi< 
own niimeon it; and the song itself partly to Burns and partly to some unknown miu^t^el. 
Thoy uro both in the Museum.] 

0, AViLT thou go wi' mo. 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
0, wilt thou go wi' me, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, 

Or be drawn in a ear. 
Or walk by hiy side, 

O, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 



4.20 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

I care na tliy daddie, 

His lands and his money, 
I care na thy kindred, 

Sae high and sae lordly : 
But say thou wilt hae me 

For better for waur — 
And come in thy coatie, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar I 



STREAMS THAT GLIDE IN ORIENT PLAINS. 

Tunc — "Monty." 

[We owe those verses to the too hriof visit which the poet, in 1787, made to Gordon 
Castle: he was hurried away, much against his will, by his moody and obstinate friend 
William Nicol.] 

Streams that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ; 

Glowing here on golden sands, 
There commix' d with foulest stains 

From tyranny's empurpled bands; 
These, their richly gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves; 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 

The banks by Castle-Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay. 
Shading from the burning ray 

Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way, 

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil : 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave, 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 

The storms by Castle-Gordon. 

Wildly here without control. 
Nature reigns and rules the whole; 
In that sober pensive mood. 



ROBERT BURNS. 421 

Dearest to tlie feeling soul, 

She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
Life's poor clay I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 

By bonnie Castle-Gordon. 



MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY. 

Tunc — " IHyldander's Lament." 

["The chorus," says Burns, "I picked up from an old woman in Diimblanc: the rest 
of the song is mine." He composed it for Johnson : the tone is Jacobiticul.J 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strode he on the plain : 

But now he's banish'd far away, 
I'll never see hiiji back again. 

for him back again ! 

O for him back again ! 

1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's laud 

For Highland Harry back again. 

When a' the lave gae to their bed, 

I wander dowie uj) the glen ; 
I set me down and greet my fill, 

And ay I wish him back again. 

were some villains hangit high, 

And ilka body had their ain ! 
Then I might see the joyfu' sight, 

jMy Highland Harry back again. 

for him back again ! 

for him back again ! 

1 wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land 
For Highland Harry back agaia. 



36 



4-2 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

THE TAILOR. 

Tune — " Tlic Tailor fell thro' the bed, tliinihlen an' a." 

[The second ami fourth verses are by Burns, the rest is very old; the air is also very 
old, and is played at trade festivals and processions by the Corporation of Tailors.] 

The Tailor fell tliro' tlic bed, thimbles au' a', 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a' ; 

The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sina', 

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'. 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill, 
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill ; 
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still, 
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 

Gie me the groat again, canny young man; 
Gic me the groat again, canny young man ; 
The day it is short, and the night it is lang, 
The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There's some that are dowie, I trow would be fain 
To see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 



SUMMER'S A PLEASANT TLME. 

Tunc — " Ai/ ivniihiii o'." 

[Tytler and Ritson unite in cousiderins the air of these words as one of our most ancient 
melodies. The first verso of the song is from the hand of Burns; the rest bad the beuelit 
of his emendations : it is to be found in the Museum.] 

Simmer's a pleasant time, 
Flow'rs of ev'ry colour; 
The Avater rins o'er the heugh, 
And I long for my true lover. 
Ay waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 



ROBERT BURNS. 423 

When I sleep I dream, 

When I wauk I'm eerie; 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave are sleepin' ; 
I think on my bonnie lad 

And I bleer my een with greetiu'. 
Ay waukin 0, 

Waukin still and wearie : 
Sleep I can get nane * 

For thinking on my dearie. 



BEWARE 0' BONNIE ANN. 

Tune — " Ye gallants bright." 

[Hums wrote tliis song in honour of Ann Masterton, tlauglitoi- of Allan Jlasterton, 
author of tho air of .Stratballan's Jjamcut: she is now Mrs. DurbLshire, and resides in 
Loudon.] 

Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace. 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist. 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, grace, and love attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van : 
In a' their charms, and conquering arms, 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the handa. 

But love enslaves the man; 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ! 



424 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

WHEN ROSY MAY. 

Tunc — " The gardener wi' his paidle." 

[The air of tliis song is played annually at the procession of the Gardeners : the title 
only is old ; tlie rest is the work of Burns. Every trade had, in other days, an air of it^i 
own. and songs to correspond ; hut toil and sweat came in harder measure, and drove 
uielodios out of working-men's heads.] 

When rosy IMay comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay greeu-spreadiiig bowers, 
Then busy, busy are his hours — 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 
The crystal waters gently ia' ; 
The merry birds are lovers a' ; 
The scented breezes round him blaw — 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 

When purple morning starts the hare 

To steal vipon her early fare. 

Then thro' the dews he maun repair — 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 
When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtain draws of nature's rest, 
He flies to her arms he lo'es best — 

The gard'ner wi' his paidle. 



BLOOMING NELLY. 

Tune — " On a bauk o/Jlowera." 

[One nf iho lyrirs of .\llan nani.s.iy's oolloction soonis to have heen In the mind of Burns 
whtiu he wrote tliis: the words and air are in the Museum.] 

On a bank of flower.'^, in a summer day, 

For summer lightly drcst. 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep opprest; - 
When Willie wand'ring thro' the wood, 

Who for her favour oft had sued, 
lie gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd, 

And trembled where he stood. 



ROBERT BURNS. 425 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sbeath'd, 

Were seal'd ia soft repose; 
Her lips still as she fragrant breatli'd, 

It richer dy'd the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly prest, 

Wild — wanton, kiss'd her rival breast ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd — 

His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes light waving in the breeze 

Her tender limbs embrace; 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

,A1I harmony and grace : 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, 

A Altering, ardent kiss he stole ; 
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd. 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake, 

On fear-inspir'd wings, 
So Nelly, starting, half awake, 

Away affrighted springs : 
But Willie follow'd, as he should, 

He overtook her in a wood ; 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid 

Forgiving all and o-ood. 



THE DAY RETURNS. 

Tune — "Seventh of Novcmbei:" 

[Tbi; seventh of November was the anniversary of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Riddel, 
of l''riars-Carse, and these verses were composed iu compliment to the day.] 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line; 
36* 



420 T 11 H P M r 1 C A I, W I) 11 K 8 OF 

'.riiau kinuly robos, lli;m (Towns iiiul globes, 
Heaven uave nu> nioro — it made thee mine! 

AVliilo (lay ami niulit ean bring delight, 

Or natur(> aught of ])K>as\iro givo, 
AVhile joys aluive my mind ean move. 

For thee and thee alone I live. 
When that grim f"oe of life below, 

(\tmes in between to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our band. 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 



MV l.0\ !•: SllK'S VAT A bASSlF, YKT. 

TuUO — " LikIi/ /{ililililiscolll'n //(■</." 

[Thi'so vpi'sos hiul thoir origin in iiu oUlon Ktinin, oi]utilly llvoly iiinl loss lU'Uoato: sonio 
of (111' uliI lines koop tlioir pliu-o: tho tillo is oUi, lloth words nnd all- are in thu Musical 

Mnsoniii.l 

^1y love she's but a lassie yet. 

My love she's but a lassie yet, 
We'll let her stand a year or (wa, 

She'll no be half so sauey yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, (>; 

i rue tho day I sought her, ; 
Wha gets her needs na say he's woo'd, 

r>ut he may say he's bought her, O I 

(^onu\ draw a drap o' the liest o't yet; 

C\)ine, draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; 
Oae seek for ]deasure where ye will. 

But here 1 ne\iM' miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 

We're ii dry wi" drinking o't; 
'I'lie minister kiss'd the liddler's wife. 

An' eould na pri>aeh for thinkin' o't. 



R r. [<) \[ v 15 u u N s. -427 

JAMIE, COME THY ME. 

Tuno — " Jidiiij, coiiif try mc." 

[r.iinis ill llioso versos oauglit up tlio stiirliiii? unto of an old sonjl, of wliicli littlo moiv 
lli.iii tho sinrtins words dosiu-vo to hv n-iuotiiborod : the words aud air aro iu Ihu Musii-al 

JIllSl'lllll.] 

I'llOKfS. 

Jamie, come try me, 
flaiuie, ecime (ry iiu' ; 
If thou would will my lovo, 
Jamie, come try me. 

If tlum should ask my k)ve, 

(\.uld I deny thee'r' 
If (hou would win my lovo, 

Jamie, eome try me. 

If thou should kiss uio, lovo, 

Wha could espy thoc ? 
If thou wad bo my love, 
Jamie, come try lue. 
Jamie, come try me, 
Jauiie, come try me; 
If thou would win my lovo, 
ilamie, come try me. 



MY BONNIK IMAllY. 

Tuno — " (111 fitch to nil' a pint <>' iriiic." 

ICoiiccriiin;^ tliis tino .soii^j;, Hums in his notos sn.ys, "Tliis nir is Oswald's: llu> first h;ill'- 
stiiiiza of till- son;; is old. tlio rest is niiiio." It is liclii'voil, liowmer, that tlui whole of Iho 
fliiiif: Is from his hand: in Iliiir;; and MotherwcU's edition of liiirns, llie startint; lines are 
supiilii'd from an tildeii strain : hut some of the old strains in that wurlc are to ho regarded 
with suspieion.) 

Go fettdi to me a ])iiit o' wine, 

All' till it in a silver tassie; 
That I may drink, before [ j;o, 

A service to my bounie lassie; 



428 THE POETICAL AV 11 K S OF 

The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith; 

Fu' loud the wind bhxws frae the ferry; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my boimie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes thick and bloody; 
It's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonuie Mary. 



THE LAZY MIST. 

Tuno— '• The Livnj llh-t." 



[All that Burns snys about tho authorship of The Lazy Mist, is. "This sous is iniuo." 
The air, which is by Oswald, togothcr with tho words, is in the Musical Museum.] 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill ; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear I 
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year. 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 
How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues I 

How long have I liv'd, but how much liv'd in vain ! 

How little of life's scanty span may remain ! 

What aspects, old Time, iu his progress, has worn 1 

What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn ! 

How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd I 

And downward, how weakon'd, how davken'd, how priiiM ! 

Life is not worth having with all it can give — • 

For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 



ROBERT BURNS. 429 

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

Tune — " mount and go." 

[Part of this song belongs to an old maritime strain, with the same title: it was com- 
municated, along with many other songs, made or amended by Burns, to the Jlusiail 
Museum.] 

CHORUS. 

mount and go, 

Mount and make you ready ; 

mount and go, 

And be the Captain's Lady. 

"When the drums do beat, 

And the cannons rattle, 
Thou shall sit in state, 

And see thy love in battle. 

When the vanquish'd foe 

Sues for peace and quiet, 
To the shades we'll go. 
And in love enjoy it. 
mount and go, 

IMount and make you ready; 
O mount and go. 

And be the Captain's Lady. 



or A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLA.W. 

Tune — "Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." 

[Burns wrote this charming song in honour of Jean Armour: he archly says in his 
notes, " P. S. it was during tho honey-moon." Other versions are abroad; this one is from 
the manuscripts of the poet.] 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'c best : 
There wild-woods grow, and rivers I'ow, 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 



400 



T II E ■ r E T I C A L Yv' R K S OF 

I see lier iu the dew^^ flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I liear her iu the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green. 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings. 

But minds me o' my Jean. 

blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft 

Amang the leafy trees, 
Wi' bahiiy gale, frae hill and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is uiy Jean. 

What sighs and vows amang the knov/es 

Hae passed atwcen us twa ! 
Plow fond to meet, how wae to jxirt, 

That night she gaed awa ! 
The powers aboou can only ken, 

To whom the heart is seen, 
That uane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet lovely Jean ! 



FIRST WHEN MAGGY WAS MY CAEE. 

Tune — " Whiffle o'er the lave o't." 

[The iiir of this song was coinposod by John l^riice, of Dumfries, musician : the woni?, 
Ihougli oi'iginiitiui!; in .an olden strain, are wholly by Burns, and right bitter ones they 
are. The words and air are iu the Museum.] 

First when IMaggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air; 
Now we're married — spier nae niair — " 
Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 



ROBERT BURN S. ^31 

Meg was meek, aud Meg was milJ, 
]^ouuie Meg was nature's child; 
Wiser men than me's beguil'd — 
Whistle o'er the hive o't. 

How we live, my Meg aud me, 
How we love, aud how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see ; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
AVha I wish were maggot's meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



WERE I ON PARNASSUS HILL. 

Tune — " Jfi/ love is lost to vie." 

[The pnet welcomed ■with this exquisite song his wife to Xithsdale: the air is one of 
Oswald's.] 

O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill. 
To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well ; 
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel' : 
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell. 
And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay, 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day 
I coudna sing, I coudna say, 

Mow much, how dear, I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the greeu. 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy temptiug lips, thy roguish eeu — 

By heaven aud earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 

The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 



432 T II E P E T I C A L W 11 K S OF 

And aye I muse and sing thy name — ■ 

I only live to love thee. 
The' I were doom'd to wandei* ou 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 

Till then — and then I love thee. 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

To a Gaelic A!r. 

[" This air," snys Burns, '• is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it a Lament for bis 
Brother. ' The first half-stanza of the song is old : the rest is mine." They are both in 
the Museum.] 

There's a youth in this city, 

It were a great pity 
That he frae our lasses shou'd wander awa : 

For he's honnie an' braw, 

Wcel-favour'd an' a', 
And his hair has a natural buckle an' a'. 

His coat is the hue 

Of his bonnet sae blue; 
His feck it is wliite as the new-driven snawj 

His hose they are blae, 

And his shoon like the slae. 
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'. 

For beauty and fortune 

The laddie's been courtin' ; 
AVeel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel-mountcd and braw; 

But chiefly the siller. 

That gars him gang till her, 
The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'. 

There's Meg wi' the mailen 

That fain M^ad a haen him ; 
And Siv^ie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha' ; 

There's lang-tocher'd Nancy 

Maist fetters his finicy — 
But the laddie's dear sel' he lo'es dearest of a'. 



ROBERT BURNS. 433 

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

Tune — " Failte na Mtosg." 

[The words and the air are in the Museum, to which they were contributed hy Burns. 
He says, in hi.s notes on that coliection, '■The first half-stanza of this song is old; the nist 
mine." Of the old strain no one has recorded any remembrance.] 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here • 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth : 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below : 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here. 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deen-, and following the roe — 
IMy heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 



JOHN ANDERSON. 

Tunc — " Julin Anderson, my jo." 

[Soon after the death of Burns, the very handsome Miscellanies of Brash and Reid, of 
Glasgow, contained what was called an improved John Anderson, from the pen of the Ayr- 
shire bard; but, save the second stanza, none of the new matter looked like his hand. 

" John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When nature first began 
To try her cannie hand, John, 

Her master-piece was man ; 
And you among them a', John, 

Sae trig frae tap to toe. 
She proved to be nae journeywork, 

John Anderson, my jo.] 



37 



John Anderson, my jo, John, 
When we were first acquent. 

Your locks were like the raven, 
Your bonuie brow was brent ; 



434 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

But now your brow is belcl, Joliu, 
Your locks are like tlie suaw ; 

But blessings on your frosty pow, 
John Anderson, uiy jo. 

Joliu Anderson, my jo, Jolni, 

We clanib tlie lull thegitlier; 
And niony a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anithor : 
Now wc maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go; 
xVnd sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED FRESH AND FAIR. 

Tune — " Aica, Whigs, uvon." 

[Burns trimmed up this old Jacobite ditty for the JIuseum, nnd added some of the hit- 
terost hits : the second and fourth verses are wholly his.] 

CHORUS.' 

Awa, Whigs, awa! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Ye'll do nae gude at a'. 

Our thrissles flourish' d fresh and fair. 

And bonnie bloom'd our roses; 
But Whigs came like a frost in June, 

And wither' d a' our posies. 

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust — 
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't ; 

And write their names in his black beuk, 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriviug : 
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse, 

And wc hae done wi' thriving. 



ROBERT BURNS. 435 

Grim vengeance lang has ta'cn a nap, 

But we may see him waukeu ; 
Glide help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukiu. 
Awa, Whigs, awa! 

Awa, Whigs, awa ! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louus, 
Ye' 11 do nae c'ude at a'. 



CA' THE EWES. 

Tune — " Ca' the ewes to the Icnowes.' 



[Most of this sweet pastoral is of othei- days: Burns made several emendations, and 
added the concludiug verse. lie afterwards, it will be observed, wrote for Thomson a 
second version of the subject and the air.] 

CHORUS. 

' Ca' the ewes to the knowes, 

Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, 
My bonnic dearie ! 

As I gaed down the water-side. 
There I met my shepherd lad, 
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid, 
An' he ca'd me his dearie. 

Will ye gang down the water-side. 
And see the waves sae sweetly glide, 
Beneath the hazels spreading wide ? 
The moon it shines fii' clearly. 

I was bred up at iiae sic school, 
My shepherd lad, to play the fool, 
And a' the day to sit in dool, 
And nacbody to see me. 

Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, 
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet. 
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep. 
And yc sail be my dearie. 



436 T II E r !■: t i c a l av o r k s of 

If yo'll but stand to \\\\i\t jo'vc said, 
I'sc gang wi' you, iny slieplicrd lad, 
And ye uiay rowe nio in your plaid, 
And I sail be your dearie. 

Wliilo AvatiM-s wimple to tlio sea; 
AVliilo day blinks in the lift sao hie; 
'Till clay-cauld death sail bliu' my e'e, 
Yc sail be my dearie. 

Ca' the cwos to the knowes, 
Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare tlu^, burnie rowes, 
My bonnie dearie. 



MERRY IIAE I BEEN TEETIIIN' A HECKLE. 

Tunc — "Lord ]>r<:nd(i!ha lie's Jfarch." 

[P.ii't of this song is old : Sir Harris Nicolas says it doos not appear to bo in tho Museum : 
lot him look ngaiu.J 

MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle, 

And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon ; 
merry hae I been cloutiu' a kettle, 

And kissiu' my Katie when a' was done. 
a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 

An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing, 
A' the lang night I cuddle my kinnner. 

An' a' the lang night am as happy's a king. 

Bitter in dool I liokit my winnins, 

0' marrying l>ess to gie her a slave: 
Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linens. 

And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave. 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 

An' come to my arms and kiss me again! 
Drunken or sober, here's to thee Katie 1 

And blest be the day I did it again. 




^^^i^Y'taly /^ 







'■yii^i yy^a/^^^a!^ a-z<:*i^ 



•^Z/ty i^.yn^yu^^Z'^'n^'-.^^y^.we /^?^-/:' 






f 



ROBERT BURNS. 437 

THE BRAES 0' BALLOCHMYLE. 

Tune — " The Braes o' Ballochmyle." 

[Mary 'Whitefoord, eldest daughter of Sir John Whitcfoord, was the heroine of this 
song : it was written when that ancient family left their ancient inheritance. It is in the 
Museum, with an air by Allan Masterton.] 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decay'd ou Catrine lea, 
Nae lav' rock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sicken'd on the e'e. 
Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while, 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle ! 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; 
Ye birdies dumb, in with' ring bowers. 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Ballochmyle ! 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Tune — "Dentil of Captain Cook." 

[This sublime and affecting Ode was composed by Burns in one of his fits of melancholy, 
on the anniversary of Highland Mary's death. All the day he had been thoughtful, and 
at evening he went out, threw himself down by the side of one of his corn-riclis, and with 
his eyes fixed on " a bright, particular star," was found by liis wife, who with difficulty 
brought him in from the chill midnight air. The song was already composed, and he had 
only to commit it to paper. It first appeared in the Museum.] 

Thou ling' ring star, with less'ning ray. 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
S7« 



438 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Soest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groaus that rend his breast? 

That eacred hour can I forget, 

Can I forget the hallow' d grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity cannot efface 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace j 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wildwoods, thick'ning green; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene; 
The llow'rs sprang wanton to be prest. 

The birds sang love on every spray — 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mcm'ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th' impression stronger makes. 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the croans that rend his breast ? 



EPPIE ADAIR. 

Tune — '"-lAy Eppic." 



[••This pong:,"' ?.iys Sir llanis Nicolas. '• wliioU has been asoi-ibea to lUirns by some of 
his editors, is iu the Musical Museum without any name." It is partly an olil strain, cor- 
rected by Burns: bu couiuiunicated it to the Museum.] 

An' ! my Eppie, 
jMv jewel, my Eppie ! 
AVha wadna be happy 
Wi' Eppie Adair? 



ROBERT BURNS. 4o9 

By love, and by beauty, 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 
My Eppie Adair ! 

An' ! ni}'- Eppie, 
JMy jewel, my Eppie ! 
"\\"ha wadna be bappy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
A' pleasure exile me. 
Dishonour defile me, 
If e'er I beguile thee, 

M}^ Eppie Adair ! 



THE BATTLE OP SIIERIFF-MUIR. 

Tune — " Camcronian Eant." 

[One Barclay, a ilisscnfing clcrsyman iu Etliiilnirgh, wrote a rliymiiic; dialogue between 
two rustics, on the l)attle of SlieiilTmuir: Burns was in nowise plensed witli the way in 
whicli the reverend rliymer handled tlie Ilii^bland clans, and wrote this modified and 
improved version.] 

" CAM ye here the fight to shun, 

Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man?" 
I saw the battle, sair and tough, 
And reekin' red ran mony a shcugh. 
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, 
0' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 

Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd, 

And mony a bouk did fa', man: 
The great Argyll led on his files, 
I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles : 
They hough' d the clans like uine-pin kyles, 



440 THE POETICx\.L AVORKS OF 

They hack'd and hasli'd, while broad-swords dash'd, 
Aud thro' they dash'd, and hew'd, and smash'd, 
^Till fey men died awa, man. 

But had you seen the phiUbcgs, 

And skyriu tartan trews, man ; 
When in the teeth they dared our Whigs 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large. 
When bayonets opposed the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, 'till out o' breath, 

They fled like frighted does, man. 

" how deil, Tam, can that be true ? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man ; 
I saw myself, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight, 
They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
Aud straught to Stirling winged their flight; 
But, cursed lot ! the gates wei-e shut ; 
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat. 

For fear amaist did swarf, man !" 

My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man ; 
Their left-hand general had uae skill. 
The Angus lads had nae good-will 
That day their neebors' blood to spill ; 
For fear, by foes, that they shoidd lose 
Their cogs o' brose — they scar'd at blows, 

Aud so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen, 
Amang the Highland clans, man I 

I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. 
Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man : 



ROBERT BURNS. 441 

Now wad ye sing this double figlit, 
Some fell for wrang, aud some for right; 
And mooy bade the world guid-night ', 
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
By red claymores, aud muskets' knell, 
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, 
Aud Whigs to hell did flee, man. 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Tuno — "Yoimrj Juckcy." 



[M'ith tbe exception of three or four lines, this song, though marked in the JIusoum as 
an old song with additions, is the work of Burns. lie often seems to have sat down to 
amend or modify old verses, and found it easier to make verses wholly new.] 

Young Jockey was the blythest lad 

In a' our town or here awa : 
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud, 

Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. 
He roosed my een, sue bonuie blue. 

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma', 
And ay my heart came to my mou' 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost aud snaw; 
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain. 

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. 
An' ay the night comes round again, 

When in his arms he taks me a', 
An' ay he vows he'll be my ain, 

As lansj's he has a breath to draw. 



442 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

0, WILLIE BREW'l). 

Tunc — '• Wl/lic hrew'd a ])cck o' inctttt." 

[The scene of this song ia Laggan, in Nithsdale, a small estate which Nicol bought by 
the advice of the poet. It was composed in memory of the house-hoating. ■• Wo had suiii 
a joyous meeting," says Burns, '-tliat Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, to 
celebrate the business." The 'Willio who made the browst was, therefore, William Nicol ; 
the Allan who composed the air, Allan Masterton; and he who wrote this choicest of con- 
vivial songs, Kobert Burns.] 

0, WlLlilE brow'd a peck o' uiaut, 
And Rob and Allan cam to sec : 
Three blither hearts, that Icc-lang night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 

Wc arc na fou, we're no that fou, 
But just a drappie in our e'e; 
The cock niixy craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here arc we met, three meiny boys, 

Three merry boys, I trow, are wc ; 
And mony a night we've merry been. 

And mony mac we hope to be I 

It is the moon — I ken her horn, 

That's bliukin in the lift sac hie ; 
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 

But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ! 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 
A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 
"Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 
He is the king aniang us three ! 

We are na fou, we're no that fou. 

But just a drajipie in our c'e; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we'll taste the barley broe. 






ROBERT BURNS. 443 

W II ARE II A E YE BEEN. 

' Tune — " Killiccranlcic." 

["■ This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, " is iu the Museum without Burns's name." It 
was composed b}' Burns on llie battle of Killiekrancie, and sent in his own handwriting 
to Jcilnison : he puts it into the mouth of a Whig.] 

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Wharc liae ye been sae brankie, ? 
0, wbare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
An' ye had been whare I hae been, 

Ye wad na been so cantie, ; 
An' ye had seen what I hae seen, 

Ou the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea; 

At hame I fought my auntie, ; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr. 

An' Clavers got a claukie, ; 
Or I had fed on Athole gled. 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. 



I GAED A WAEFU' GATE YESTREEN. 

Air — " Tlie hlne-cyed lass." 

[This blue-eyed lass was Jean Jeffery, daughter to the minister of Lochmaben: she was 
(ben n rosy girl of seventeen, with winning manners and laughing blue eyes. She is now 
Mrs. llenwiok. and lives in New York.] 

I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearlie rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 

Her lips, like roses, wat wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 



4 1:4 T II E P E T I C A L AV R K S F 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd ; 

She charm'd my soul — I wist na how : 
And ay the stound, the deadly wound, 

Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll la}' my dead 

To her twa een sae bonnie blue. 



THE BANKS OF NITII. 

Tune — " liohie donna Gorach." 

[The command which the Comyns helil on the Nith was lost to the Douglasses: the 
Nithsdale power, on the downfall of that proud name, was divided ; jiart went to the Char- 
teris's and the better portion to the Maxwells: the Johustones afterwards came in for a 
share, and now the Scotts prevail.] 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flow^ the Nith, to me, 

"Where Comyus ance had high command ; 
When shall I see that honour' d land. 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
JMust wayward Fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales. 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom ! 
IIow sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom I 
Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Aniang the friends of early days ! 



ROBERT BURKS. 445 

MY HEART IS A-BREAKING, DEAR TITTIE. 

Tune — " Tarn Glen." 

[Tarn Glen is the title of an old Scottish song, and older air : of the former all that 
romuins is a portion of the chorus. Burns when ho wrote it sent it to the Museum.] 

My heart is a-brealcing, dear Tittie ! 

Some counsel unto me come leu', 
To anger them a' is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tain Glen ? 

I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow, 

In poortith I might make a feu' j 
What care I in riches to wallow, 

If I maunna marry Tarn Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, 

'' Gude day to you, brute !" he comes ben : 

He brags aud he blaws o' his siller, 

But when will he dance like Tarn Glen ? 

My minnie does coustautly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ! 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me, 
But wha can think so o' Tarn Glen ? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten : 

But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou' gied a sten ; 

For thrice I dretv ane without failing. 
And thrice it was written — Tam Glen. 

The last Halloween I lay Avaukin 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken ; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin, 
Aud the very grey brecks o' Tam Glen ! 

Come counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry — 

111 gie you my bonnie black hen, 

Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad that I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 
38 



■i^C) T II E V E T 1 C A L W R K S OF 

FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOA'E. 

Air — " Can-o)t Side." 

[Rnrns says, "I added tUo four last linos, by way of giving a turn to tho tlioine of tlio 
]>oi'm, such as it is." The rest of tUi^ song is supposed to be from tho same baud : the 
linos are not to be found in earlier eolleetions.] 

Frae the frioiuls aud land I love, 

Priv'n by fortuuo's folly spite, 
Frae my best belov'd I rove, 

Never luair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun liope to find. 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care : 
When remeuibranec wracks the mind, 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Erijrhtest cliinos shall mirk appear, 

Desert ilka bloomint;' shore, 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe. 

Friendship, love, and peace restore ; 
Till Revcuge, wi' lauroll'd head, 

IJring our banish'd hame again ; 
And ilka loyal bonnie lad 

Cross the seas aud win his ain. 



SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING. 

Tunc — " Craigic-lurn-Kood." 

[This is one of several fine songs in honour of .Toan T/irimer, of Kemmis hall. Kirkmalioo, 
who for some time lived on the bunks of Oraigie-burn, near MolVat. It was composed in 
aid of tho olomience of a Mr. Uillespie, who was in love with her: but it did uot prevail, 
f<ir she married an officer of the name of Whelpdale, lived with him for a month or sn: 
reasons arose on both sides which rendered separation neces,«ary ; sho then took up l;or 
residence in Dumfries, where she had many opportunities of seeing tho poet. She lived 
till lately.] 

ciioitrs. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, deario. 

And 0, to be lying beyond thee j 
sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 

That's laid in the bed beyond thee ! 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-buru-wood, 
And blithely awaukons the morrow; 



ROBERT BURNS. 447 

But the pviilc of the sprinp; in the Craigic-burn-wood, 
Can yiehl to me nothing but sorrow. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

I hear the wild birds singing j 
But pleasure they hae nane for me, 

While care my heart is wringing. 

I canna tell, I maunna tell, 

I darena for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart. 

If I conceal it langer. 

I sec thee gracefu', straight, and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonnie; 
But oh ! what will my torments be, 

If thou refuse thy Johnnie! 

To see thee in anither's arms, 

lu love to lie and languish, 
'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, 

My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 

But, Joanie, say thou wilt be mine, 

Say, thou lo'es nane before me; 
And a' my days o' life to come 
I'll gratefully adore thee. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie. 

And 0, to be lying beyond thee ; 
sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 
That's laid in the bed beyond thee ! 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

Tuno — " Coith v2'j your heaver." 

[•'Printed," says Sir Ilarris Nicolas, "in the Musical Museum, but not with Burns's 
mime." It is an old song, eked out and amended by the poet : all the last verse, save the 
last lino, is his; several of the lines too of the first verse, have felt his amending hand; 
he communicated It to the Museum.] 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 
Came to this town, 



18 



T II K ro i;t 1 (' A 1. >v o w ks o v 



'JMiat WiiiiUHl tlio frown ; 
But now lio has cotton 

A liat, !iml !i foatluM-, — 
lli'y, l)nivt' rldliiiiiit' lad, 

Cock up your boavcr ! 

(Vh'U u]i your lu'avor, 

And iHtrU il fu' siu-usli, 
Wo'll ovm- (ho hordor 

And Lju' tlioni a loaisli j 
'riu'ri>'s sonu'hody tlu'ro 

Wo'll toaoli b(>ttor Itoluiviour — 
Hoy, bravo .lolmuio lad. 

Cook up your hoavor ! 



I'riioso V 

wlsh.Ml Ml. 
uiliuiroi'.J 



MKlKld; THINKS .MY l.rVH. 

Tuno — '' Jfy toi'lur'n the ji'wel." 

iM'soK W(>i'o wi'ltloii l>y Itunis tor the Mnsimiu, to an n\v hy OswnUl : but. lio 
'in to lu> sunp; lo a liino onlloil " l.oi\l Klolm's ftivi^ui'ito," ot'wliU'h ho wus mi 

O Mi'.iKi.K thinks u>y luvo o' my boanty, 

And uioiklo thinks my luvo o' luy kin; 
Hut littlo thinks my luvo 1 kiM\ brawlio 

I\ly toohor's tho jowol has oharnis i'or him. 
It's !i' for tho applo ho'U nourish tho troo ; 

It's !>' i'or tho hiuoy ho'U ohorish tho boo; 
I^Iy laddio's sao nu'iklo in luvo wi' (ho sillor, 

llo oauna hao luvo to spare for mo. 

Ydur prolVor o' luvo's an airl-ponny, 

y\\ toohor's tho baruain yo wad buy; 
Hut an yo bo oral'ty, 1 am ounnin', 

8at> yo wi' anitlu-r your t'ortuno maun try. 
\o'ro liko to tho timnu>r o' yon rotton wiuul. 

Yo'ro liko to tho timnuM" o' yon rotton troo, 
Vo'll slip lVa(> \\\o liko a knotloss throail. 

And \o'll oraok vour orodit wi" mao nor nu\ 



KO 15 !•: KT I! U 11 N S. 449 

GANK TS THE DAY. 

Timo — "(Inihwifc ruiiiil tlic /<iii-!h." 

[Tho air as well as wonls of this song wmv I'lirnislu'il (i> (ho IMiismim liy Hurns. " Tliu 
clioru.s," ho siiys, " U part of an oltl song/'J 

(lANK is tho (lay, aiul mirk's iho iiiu'lit, 
]>ut wo'll iic'or stray fur I'an't o' li,i;ht, 
For alo and braiuly's stars ami moon, 
And bludo-rod wine's tho rising sun. 
Then gudewifc count tho hiwin, 

Tho lawin, the luwin ; 
Tlien gutU^wilb count the hiwin, 
And bring a coggic mair ! 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And simple folk maun Gght and feu; 
]Jut here we're a' in ae accord, 
Fur ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 

My coggie is a haly pool, 
That heals the wounds u' (^'1re and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink but deep ye'll lind him out. 
Then gudewife count the lawin; 

The lawin, the lawin. 
Then gudewife count the lawin. 
And bring a coggio mair ! 



THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE. 

Tunc — " There arc few gudc fcUowH jpJirn Wilh'c'a (tma." 

friiii baril was in oiiii of lils .Tacobitliml mootls wlioii lio wi-ol." (his son|j;. 'I'lio iiii' in a 
*, Willi Imown Olio, callcil '•Thcru's fow fiiu\o fellows when Williu's awa." Hut of tlio oM 

'. words iiouo, it Is supposcU, aro prusurvod. 1 

t ]}y yon castle wa' at the close of the day, 

^- I heard a man sing, though his head it was gray; 

? And as he was singing the tears down came, 

),•■ . 

I Tliere'll never bo peace till Jamie comes hamo. 



I 



450 T n i<] r o e t i c a l "\v o r k s of 

Tlio c'lmvcli is in ruins, the state is in jai"s; 
Inclusions, oppressions, and murderous wars ; 
We darena Aveel say't tliou<ih we ken wlia's to blame, 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! 

!My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd. 
It brak the sweet heart of my faithfn' auld dame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hanic. 

Now life is a burthen that bows me down, 
Since I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; 
Eut till my last moments my words are the same — 

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame ! 



now CAX I BE BLYTIIE AND GLAD? 

Tune — " The huiLiile hni that'n/tif aira." 

[Tliis lamentation was wntton, it is saiJ, in allusion to tbo sufTonngs of Jean Armour, 
wlu'u her corrospoudonoo with Burns was discoverod by her family.] 

now can I be blythe aud glad, 
Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 

"When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa? 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa ? 

It's no the frosty winter wind. 

It's uo the driving drift and snaw; 

But ay the tear comes in my e'o, 
To think on him that's ftir awa. 

But ay the tear comes in my e'e. 
To think on him that's far awa. 

]My father pat me frae his door, 

]My friends they hae disown'd me a', 

But I hae anc will tak' my part, 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 

But I hae ane will tak' my part. 
The bonnie lad that's far awa. 



11 r. E R T J5 U 11 N s. 451 

A pair ()' gloves ho gao to mo, 

Ami silken snoods lio gao n>c twaj 
And I will woar thoni for his sake, 

The bonnio lad that's far awa. 
And I will wear thcni for his sake, 

The bonnic lad that's far awa. 

O woary winter soon will pass. 

And spriiiL:; will cleed the bivkon shaw; 

And my young babie will be born. 
And lui'll bo hamc that's far awa. 

And my young babie will bo born. 
And he'll be hame that's far awa. 



I DO CONFESS TIIOU ART SAE FAIR. 

Tune — " / do foii/csH thou art. xac ftiiv." 

["I do think," says linrns, in .illusion to this song, "'tliat I luivo improvpil fho simpli- 
city of tlio sontimenls by giving tlicni a Scottish dress." The original song is of great 
elegnnro .and bo.iuty : it wiis written by Sir Ivobert .Ayloun, secrutiiry to Anne of Den- 
mark, Queen of James ].] 

I DO confess thou art sac fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs in luvc. 
Had I na found the slightest ])niyer 

That lips could speak tliy h(>art could muvo. 
I do confess thoo sweet, but iiud 

Thou art sac thriftless o' thy sweets, 
Thy favours are the silly wind, 

That kis.ses ilka thing it meets. 

Sec yonder rose-bud, rich in dow, 

Amang its native briers sae coy; 
How suno it tines its scent and hue 

When pou'd and worn a common toy! 
Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide, 

Tho' thou may gaily bloom awhile 
Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside 

Like ony common weed and vile. 



4r)2 THE POETICAL AV R K S OF 

YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 

Tunc — " Yon irlhl iiiossij mountdiiw." 

[•' This sons: (illudos to a ))!irt of mj' private history, whicli it is of no conscqaenco io the 
worUl to know." 'I'hcsc iiro tlio words of tUirns : ho sent tlio son,!-: to (Iiu Musical Musoum ; 
till' hcroiiu! is supiKisnl to bo Iho "Naimio," who dwolt noar tlio lAi;;ar.] 

Yon wild nios.sy mountains sac lofty and wide, 
That nufsc in their bosom the youth o' the (-lydo, 
Where the t^rouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed, 
And the shepherd tents his ■flock as he pipes on his reed. 
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes ou his reed. 

Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth'.s sunny shores, 
To nic hac the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors ; 
For there, by a lanely and sequester' d stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 
For there, by a lanely and sequcster'd stream, 
llcsides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang thao wild mountains shall still be my path, 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 
While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love. 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove. 
While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love. 

8he is not the fairest, altho' she is fiiir ; 
()' nice education but sma' is her share; 
Her parentage humble as humble can bo; 
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es mo. 

Her parentage bumble as humble can be; 

But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
hi her armour of glances, and blushes and sighs? 
And when wit and refinement hac polish'd her darts. 
They dazzle our ecu, as they flee to our hearts. 

And when wit and refinement hac polish'd her darts, 
They dazzle our eon, as they flee to our hearts. 



ROBERT RURNS. 4.>3 

IJut kindiioss, sweet kiiuliiess, in (lie loud .sparkliiij>- c'o, 
Has lustre ()utsliiiiiii<^ the diamoiul ti) mo: 
And the heart bc^atiiij;' love; as I'm clasp'd in her anus, 
0, these arc luy lassie's all-e(tii((ueriii!;' charms ! 

And the heart beating- love as I'm elasp'd in her arms, 
0, these arc my lassie's all-conquering charms ! 



IT IS NA, JEAN, THY RONNIE FACE. 

Tunc — " Tlic Mdid'n Cowp(<(!iit." 

[Uunis fonna tliin Bonp; in KuRlifili iittiro. bostowcd a ScnttiKli (Iross upon if,, .iikI pulilLxIuul 
it iu thu Musuum, to(;otli(:r witli Uio iiir by OHWjild, wliich Is one of liiK Ik'sI.) 

It is iia, Jean, thy Ijonnie face, 

Nor shape that 1 admire, 
Altho' thy beauty and thy grace 

Might wcel awake desire. 
Something in ilka part o' thee, 

To praise, to love, I find ; 
But dear as is thy form to me, 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae iiiair ungcn'rous wish I hac, 

Nor stronger in my breast, 
Than, if I canna mak thee sac, 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if heaven sliall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, 

For thee I'd bear to die. 



WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY DAYS. 

[Tlioao verses were in latter yours expanded liy UuritH into a son«, for Uio eolleetion of 
TliuuiHon : the song will Ijo fouiiil in its i)liico : the variations aro worthy of pruservation.] 

When I thiidc on the hap])y days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie; 



-151 T II K r K T I (' A 1, W U K S F 

Ami now Avhat laiuls betwocn \is lio, 
Hdw can I W but eerie ! 

How slow yo move, j'o lioavv hours, 
As _vo wiMV wao and woary ! 

It. was na sao yo glinted by, 
When I was wi' my deavio. 



AVIIAN I SLEEP I DREAM. 



[This prosonts anotlior voi'sion of tlio sour onllod " Simmor's a Pleasant Timo," on page 
4'J'.'. Vni'iiilioiis iivo til n poi>t wlint ohanj;*'* "i"*' i" "'<■' tlumglits of n pniutor, ami siH-ak 
of foi'lillt.v of sinitimout in both.J 

WllAN I sloop T droam 

Wlion 1 wank I'm oovio, 
81oo|> I oainia ^vt, 

For thinking' o' my doario. 

Lanoly nisiht oomos on, 

A' tlio lumso are sloopinp;, 
I think oil tho bonnio lad 

That has my hoart a hooping. 

Ay waukin 0, waukin ay ami wonvio, 

Sloop I canna got, for thinkin' o' my doario. 

Lanoly nights ooiiio on, 

A' tho houso aro slooping, 
I think on my bonnio lad, 

An' 1 bloar my oon wi' grootiu'. 
Ay wauking, iS;o. 



I MIRDER HATE. 



I'riioso vor.<os .iro to bo fouuvl in a volnmt' whioli may l>o nlluiltHl to without lioin,« 
n;uiu>il, in « hioh many of Unrus's slhuuii, (somo looser than those, are to bo tvuunl.] 

1 MiuoKU hate by tiold or flood, 
Tho' uloiv's naiuo mav soroon us : 



11 I'. !•: i: T I? u 11 N s. 4;') 5 

In wnrs :it luiiiio I'll spend my bluod, 
Lire-Giving wars oC Venus. 

The deities that I adore 

Arc soeial I'eaee and JMenty, 
I'm better ])leas'd to make one more, 

Than ))e tlie death of twenty. 



(; UDE ALE COMES. 

[Theao verses ai-o in tlio Museum : tlu? lii'st, two are ulil. the eimcluJinpc one is liy Jiurus 

(iUDK ale comes, and gnde ale goes, 
(.jiudo ale gars nic sell my hose, 

Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Gnde al(^ keeps my heart aboon. 

1 had sax owsen in a pleugli, 
They drew a' weel enengii, 

I scll'd them i\' just ane by anc j 
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon. 

Gnde ale liauds me bare and busy, 
Gars me moop Avi' the servant hizzie, 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done, 
(jlude ale keeps my heart aboon. 
gude ale comes, i*tc. 



ROBIN SIIUIIE IN IIAIRST. 

I'l'liis is lui iilil cliiunit, out of which liurns hrusbocl some Icioso oxiiressiuiis, adtlud (lie 
IbirJ iiud fourth verses, and sent it to llie iMusoum.] 

RoiilN shure in hairst, 

I shure wi' him, 
Fient a. lieuk had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I gaed up to Dunse, 

'J'o warp a wab o' plaiden, 



4oG T 11 E r V. T 1 C A L AY K K S OF 

At his dadilio's yt^tt, 

Wh:i mot 1110 but Eobin. 

Was iia Eobiu baulil, 
Tlio' I was a oottor, 

riavM 1110 sic a tviok, 

Ami 1110 tho ollov's iloeliter? 
l\obin shuvo in hairst, &c. 

Ixobin pvoiuisM mo 
A' mv M-intor vittlo ; 

Fioiit haot ho had but thvoo 
Oooso foathovs ami a whittlo. 
Eobin shuro iu haivst, »!to. 



B X X 1 E r E G . 



[A l.nivili vi-rso m:»kt's tlu> moon a witness to tho omloariuents of thosd lovers: l<ut that 
planet si'os inoiv imliscroet miittors than it is right to describe.] 

As I came in by ouv gate cud, 

As day was waxiu' woavy, 
wha oamo tripping down tho stroot. 

But Ixmnio JVg my dearie ! 

ITor air sae sweet, and shape conipk^te, 

Wi' nae proportion wanting ; 
Tho Quoon of Love did never move 

AVi' motion mair oiiohauting. 

Wi' linked hands, we took tho sands 

A-down yon winding river; 
And. oh I that hour and broomy bowor. 

Can I forsiot it ever ? 



ROBERT BURNS. 457 



GUDEEN TO YOU, KIMMER. 

[Tliis song ill otlior (lays was ;i controversial ono, and coutainea some saroastie allusions 
to MotliLT Itonie and her brood of seven sacrami'uts, five of whom were illogitimato. liurus 
changed the meaning, and published his altered version in tlie Museum.] 

GuDEEN to you, Kimmer, 

And how do yo do ? 
Iliceiip, quo' Kimnicr, 
The bettor that I'm fou. 

We're a' iioddin, nid nid noddiii, 
We're a' iioddin, at our house at hamc. 

Kate sit.s i' tlio neuk, 

Suppin hen broo; 
Doil tak Kate 

An' she be na noddln too ! 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

How's a' wi you, Kimmer, 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't, 

And twa pints niair. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

How's a' wi' you, Kimnicr, 

And how do ye thrive ; 
How many bairns hae ye ? 

Quo' Kininier, I hae five. 
We're a' noddin, &c. 

Are they a' Juhnie's? 

Eh ! atweel na : 
Twa o' them were gotten 

When Johiiie was awa. 
We're a' noddin, &c.. 

Cats like milk, 

And dogs like broo; 
Lads like la.ssos wool, 
And lasses lads too. 
We're a' noddin, A:c. 
39 



458 T 11 H V V. T 1 r a i, ^v o i; k s o v 

All, OllLOUlS, SINCE IT MAY \A V,V.. 

Tunc — '* Mnjov Grahnm." 

[Sir Harvis N'icolns fouiul tln-so linos on Cliloris anions tho papors of Burns, ami iirintoj 
thorn in his lato iiiition oftho poofs works.] 

Au, Chloris, since it may na bo, 

That thou of lovo wih hear; 
If from tho lovor thou maun floe, 

Yot U't tho friond bo (.loar. 

Alt ho' I K)vo my ChUiris mair 

Than ovor tongue oouhl toll; 
IMy passion I will no'or doolaro, 

I'll sav. I wish thoo \yo11. 

Tho' a' my daily oaro thou art, 

Ami a' my nightly droam. 
I'll hido tho struggle in n\y heart. 

Ami say it is esteem. 



SAAV YK MY PEAR IE. 

Timo — " J'^ppie Macimh." 

[•• TuWisluHl in tho Musonni." .s,-«ys Sir Harris Nu-olas, "withont any uauio." r.urn8 
Oiinvitwl s(>\no linos in tlio oKl soivj. wliioli luul moiv wit, lu> s,Hiii, than dooeuoy, .lud avWovl 
otliors. anii .soiit his ainomlod vorsion to .lohnson.^ 

() s.vw ye my dearie, my Kppie .M'Nab":' 
O saw ye my dearie, my Kppio jM'Nab'i* 
8he's down in tho yard, she's kissin' tho laird, 
She wiima eomo hame to her ain Jock Kab. 
come thy ways to me, my Kppie IM'Nab! 
come thy ways to me, iny J^ppio ^I'Xab ! 
"Whato'or tliou hast done, bo it lato. bo it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain .lock l\ab. 

What says tjlie. Biy dearie, my Kppie M'Xab? 
"What says she. my dearie, my Kppio 31 'Nab? 
She lets thee to wit. that she has thoo forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock llab. 



lU) r. KKT 15 URNS. 459 

had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppio IM'Niib ! 
had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Joek Kab. 



WIIA IS THAT AT MY BOWER-DOOR? 

Tunc — " LunK, ail I conic near tJiec." 

["'I'lio " AiiUl Man and the Widow," in Rnmsay's collection, is said, by Oilbort Iturns, to 
liinc .suggested this song to bis brother: it lirst appeared in the Muscum.J 

"\YliA is that at my bower-door? 

(), wlia is it but Findlay ? 
Q'lien gac your gate, yc'se nae be here I — 

Indeed, mann I, quo' Findhiy. 
What mak ye sac like a thief? 

O come and see, quo' Findlay; 
Before the morn, ye'll work mischief; 

Indeed will I, ([no' Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in ? 

Let me in, quo' Findlay; 
Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din ; 

Indeed will T, (|uo' Findlay. 
In my bower if you should stay ? 

Let mo stay, (juo' F'indlay; 
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain; — 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay; 
I dread ye'll learn the gate again ; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower, — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour; 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



4G0 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE. 

Tune — " 117(11^ can a i/otntij Itissu' do tvi' an auhl num.'' 

fin the old strnin, whioh partly suggested this song, the heroine threatens only to ailoru 
her husbauil's brows: Ihirus proposes a system of domestic annoyance to break his hcarl.J 

What ciin a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
Wliat can a young lassie do wi' an auUl nian ? 

Bad luck on the ponnic that toniptod my minuie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lau' ! 

Bad luck on the penuie that tempted my miunie 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 

He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'euin', 
He hoasts and he hirples the weavy day laug; 

He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen, 
0, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen, 
0, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man I 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he caukei"s, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows : 
0, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows : 
0, dool on the day I met wi' au auld man ! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity, 

I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him. 

And then his auld brass will bu}- me a new pan. 
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him. 

And then his auld brass will buy me u new pan. 



THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

Tunc — " Bonnie wee thln<f." 
[" Composed." says the poet, ■• on my little-idol, the charming, lovely Davios.'" 

BoxMK wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 



ROBERT BURNS. 461 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 

Lest my jewel I should tine. 
Wishfully I look aud languish 

In that bounie face o' thine; 
Aud my heart it stouuds wi' anguish, 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, aud grace, and love, aud beauty 

In a constellation shine ; 
To adoi'e thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 
I wad wear thee in my bosom. 

Lest my jewel I should tine ! 



THE TITIIER MORN. 

To a Jliijhland Air. 



[" The tune of this song," says I5urns, "is originally from the Highlands. I h.ave heard 
a Cinelic song to it, which was not by any means a lady's song." "It occurs," .says Sir 
Harris Nicolas, "in the Jlusemn, without the name of Burns." It was sent ia the poet's 
own handwriting to Johnson, and is believed to be his composition.] 

The tither morn, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an oak sat moaning, 

I did na trow 

I'd see my Jo, 
Beside me, gain the gloaming. 

But he sae trig. 

Lap o'er the rig. 
And dawtingly did cheer me, 

When I, what reck, 

Did least expec', 
To see my lad so near me. 

His bonnet he, 
A thought ajee, 
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; 
39 » 



462 THE r OK TIC A L WORKS OF 

And T, I \\i\t, 

AVi' ruimiess grat, 
AVliilo ill Ills grips ho press'd mo. 

Deil t;ik' tho war ! 

1 lato and air 
Ilao wish'd since Jock dopavtod ; 

Tint now as glad 

I'm wV my lad, 
As short syne hrokon-hoavtcd. 

Vn' aft at oon 
AVi' danoing keen, 

AVhon a' woro Mytho and mony, 
I oar'd iia by, 
Sae sad was I 

lu abseiu'o o' my doarie. 

l>ut praise ho blost, 
]\Iy mind's at rost, 

I'm happy wl' my Johnny: 
At kirk and fair, 
I'so ay bo there, 

And bo as canty's ony. 



AE FOXD KISS. 
Tuno— <'7ioi7/ DiiU'is Port.' 



[TJolioved to n-liitt> to tl\o jioot's jvirtinjv with Clarimla. "Thoso exquisitely ftfT»H'ting 
stnny.iis," siiys Saitt, " contain tUo essom-o of a tliousjmd lovo-tjiles."' They are iu lUo 
Musexim.] 

Ak fond kiss, and thou wo sever; 
Ae farewool, and then for ever! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
"Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 
"Who shall say that fortune grieves him 
"NVliile the star 'of hope she leaves him? 
IMe, nae eheerfu' twinkle lights me; 
Park despair around benights me. 



11 15 E 11 T BURN S. 463 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naethiut'' could resist my Nancy; 
But to see her, was to love her; 
Love but her, and love for ever. — 
Had we never lov'd sae kindly, 
Had we never lov'd sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
AVe had ne'er been broken hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
I'eace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ac farewell, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warrin"' sit;hs and uroans I'll watie thee ! 



LOVELY DAVIE S. 

Tune — " 31 ins Jlulr." 



[Writtoii for tlio Museum, in honour of the witty, the handsome, the lovely, ami unfor- 
tunate Miss Diivies.J 

IIOAV shall I, uns'kilfu', try 

The poet's occupation. 
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, 

That whispers inspiration ! 
Even they maun dare an eftbrt mair. 

Than aught they ever gave us. 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 

Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 

Like Phoebus in the morning, 
When past the shower, and ev'ry flower 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, 

When winter-bound the wave is ; 



4G4 THE POKTir.VL W K K S O I' 

Sao droops our heart wlioii wo maun part 
Erao oharnuiii;' lovely Davios. 

ITor suiil(>'s a gift, frao 'boon tlio lift, 

That uiaks us mair than princes ; 
A soepterVl lunul, a Idng's conunaml, 

Ts in her darting glances : 
The man ii\ anus, 'gainst ibnialo charms, 

Even he her willing slave is; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Ot" eoiuiueriiig, lovely navies. 

My muse to dream ot" such a theme, 

Her foeblo pow'rs surrender : 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendour: 
I wad in vain essay the strain, 

The deed too daring bravo is ! 
I'll drap the lyro, and mute admire 

The charms o' lovclv Davies. 



TIIK WKAUY PUND 0' TOW. 

Tiino — " The iciiin/ l^iiiul o' Toir." 

['•This son,;," s.'>y.s Sir HsivHs Nicnlsis, " is in tlio Musii-al Aluscum : but it is not attri- 
l)Utoil to Hums. Mv. AUnu Ouuniiislituu iloos not statu upon what nuthoi-ity bo has 
assigned it to llunis." The ontinil liniglit nii;ilit havo. if he had ploasod. statod similar 
ohjootions to many songs whioli ho tool< williout scruplo from n\y edition, whoro thoy 
woro claimed for Iturns, for the first time, and on good autliority. 1, liowever, as it liap- 
pens. did not elaim the .song wliolly for tlie poet : 1 said '• tlie idea of tlio .song is old, and 
jn rhaps some of the woixls." It wa.s sent hy lUuus to llie Museum, and in liisowi! hand- 
writing.! 

TllK weary ptmd, the weary puiid, 

The weary puiul o' tow : 
I think my wife will end her life 

Ket'ove she spin her tow. 
I bought my wife a v^tane o' lint 

As gude its o'er did grow; 
And a' that she has made o' that, 

Is ae poor pund o' tow. 



ROIJEIIT lUJRNS. 4G^ 

There sat a bottle in a hoh, 

Boyont the in<2;lo low, 
And !vy she took the tithor souk, 

To clrouk the stowric tow. 
Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty danic, 

Gae spin your tap o' tow ! 
She took tlio rock, and wi' a knock 

She brak it o'er my pow. 

At last luu- feet — T sant;' to seo't — 

Vfiiv.d foremost o'er the knowc; 
And or I wad auithcr jad, 
I'll walktp in a tow. 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 

The weary pund o' tow ! 
I think my wife will end her life 
Before she spin her tow. 



NAEBODY. 

Tuno — "Nachoilij." 



[Burns had built his houso at Kllislnnd, soweJ his first crop, tho woman ho lovod was 
nt his siilo, ami hopo was high; no wouilor tliat ho induli^od iu tliis iuclopouduiit strain. J 

I IIAE a wife o' my aiii — 

I'll partake wi' iiac;l)ody ; 
I'll tak cuckold fi'ae nanc, 

I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 
I hae a penny to spen, 

There — thanks to naebody; 
I hae naething to lend, 

I'll borrow frae naebody. 

I am nacbody's lord — 

I'll be slave to naebody ; 
I hae a guid braid sword, 

I'll tak (hints frae naebody. 
I'll be nuMTy and iVee, 

I'll be sad for naebody; 
Naebody cares for me, 

I'll care for naebody. 



466 THE roHTiCAL works of 

0, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM ! 

Tunc—" The Moucltcicort." 

[In his memorauda on this song in the Museum, Burns says simply, "This song is 
luiuu." The uir for a century before had to bear the burthen of very ordinary words.] 

CHORUS. 

An 0, for ;mo-aiul-t\venty, Tain, 

An' hey, swoet anc-aud-twonty, Tarn, 

I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, 
An I t;aw ane-and-twonty, Tarn. 

They snool me sair, and liaud me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie, Tarn ! 

]5ut three short years will soon wheel roun' — 
And then conios ano-aiid-twenty, Tarn. 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear. 

Was loft me by my auntie, Tarn ; 
At kith or kin I need na spier. 

An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy ooof, 
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam ; 
]5ut hcar'st thon, laddie — there's my loof — 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
An 0, for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 

An hey, sweet ane-and-twonty, Tam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang. 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 



KENMURE'S ON AND AWA. 

Tune — " Kcnniitre's on and aica, Willit:." 

I The sooond and third, and concluding verses of this Jacobite strain, were written by 
IJurus: the whole was sent in his own handwriting to the Museum.] 

Kknmuhe's on and awa, Willie ! 

Konmure's on and awa ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord. 

That ever Galloway saw. 



ROBERT BURNS. 467 

Success to Kcumure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Keiimure's baiul ; 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig, 

That rides by Keumure's hand. 

Here's Kenuiurc's health in wine, Willie ! 

Here's Kennuire's health in wine ; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Keumure's bludc, 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O Kenmurc's lads arc men, Willie ! 

Keumui'c's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame; 
But soon wi' sounding victorie, 

May Kenmurc's lord come hame. 

Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! 

Here's him that's fiir awa ; 
And here's the flower that I love best — 

The rose that's like the snaw ! 



MY COLLIER LADDIE. 

Tune—" riir Coiner LaiJdu:" 



[Tho Collier LatJdio was commuuioatcil by JUinis, and in liis Imndwritiiig, to the Mu- 
st'iim : it is chiefly his own composition, though colouiinl by an oldoi- strain.] 

Where live yc, my bonnie lass ? 

An' tell mo what they ca' yc ; 
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 

And I follow the Collier Laddie. 
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 

And I follow the Collier Laddie. 

See you not yon hills and dales, 
The sun shines on sac brawlie ! 



408 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Thc}' a' are mine, and tlioy i«hall be thine, 
Gin yc'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, 
Gin yo'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

Ye shall gang in gay attire, 
Weel buskit up sae gaudy ; 

And ane to wait on every hand, 
Gin yc'll leave j-our Collier Laddie. 

And ane to wait on every hand, 
Gin 3-0' 11 leave your Collier Laddie. 

Tho' ye had a' the sun shines on. 
And the earth conceals sae lowly; 

I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

I can win my five pennies a day, 
And spen't at night fu' brawlie ; 

And make my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 

And make my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 

Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 

Tho' the wee cot-house should baud me ; 

And the world before me to win my bread. 
And fair fti' my Collier Laddie. 

And the world before me to win my bread, 
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 



NITIISDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

[These versses wore written by Burns for the ^luscum : the Maxwells of Torreaglos are 
the lineal descendants of the Earls of Njthsdale.] 

TuE noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are coming o'er the border, 
And they'll gae bigg Terreagle's towers, 

An' set them a' in order. 



ROBERT BURNS. 469 

And they declare Terreagles fair, 

For their abode they chuse it ; 
There's no a heart in a' the land, 

But's lighter at the news o't. 

Tho' stars in skies may disappear 

And angry tempests gather ; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather : 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May hae a joyful morrow ; 
So dawning day has brought relief — 

Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! 



AS I WAS A-WAND'RING. 

Tune — "Ellin Mciidial mo 3IheaUadh." 

[The original song in the Gaelic language was translated for Burns by an Inyerness- 
Fhire lady ; he turned it into verse, and sent it to the Museum.] 

As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin', 

The pipers and youngsters were making their game ; 
Amang them I Spied my faithless fause lover, 

Which bled a' the wound o' my dolour again. 
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ; 

I may be distress' d, but I winna complain; 
I flatter my fancy I may get auither, 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 

I could na get sleeping till dawin for greetin', 

The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain : 

Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken, 
For, oh ! luve forsakeu's a tormenting pain. 

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, 

I dinna envy him the gains he can win ; 
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow 

Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. 
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him, 

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain; 

40 



470 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

I flatter my faucy I may get anitlier, 

My heart it shall never be brokeu for ane. 



BESS AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL. 

Tune — " The sioect lass that lo'es me." 

[There are several variations of this song, but thoy neither affect the sentiment, nor 
afford matter for quotivtiou.j 

LEEZE me on my spinning wheel, 
leeze me on the rock and reel ; 
Frac tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh descends the simmer sun. 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
leeze me on my spinning-wheel ! 

On ilka hand the burnies trot. 
And meet below my theekit cot; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white, 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes' caller rest : 
Tlie sun blinks kindly in the biel', 
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
And Echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik amang the c'ov t hay. 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, 
The swallow jink in round my shiel. 
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Amid tlaeii" flaring, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel ? 



471 



LUVE WILL VENTURE IN. 

Tunc—" The Posle." 

["The Tosie is my composition," sa3's Burns, in a letter to Tliomson. "The air was 
taken down from Mrs. Uurns's voice." It was first printed in the Museum.] 

LUVE will venture in 

Where it daurna weel be seen ; 
luve will venture in 

Where wisdom ance has been. 
But I will down yon river rove, 

Amang the wood sae green — 
And a' to pu' a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', 

The firstling o' the year. 
And I will pu' the pink, 

The emblem o' my dear; 
For she's the jiink o' womankind, 

And blooms without a peer — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, 

When Phoebus peeps in view, 
For it's like a baumy kiss 

0' her sweet bonnie mou ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy, 

Wi' its unchanging blue — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, 
And the lily it is fair, 



47- T II H r V. TIC A 1, W W K S OF 

And in lior lovoly bosom 
I'll ])lat'o the lily thoro; 

Tlu> iliiisy's for simplicity, 
Anil unairofted air — 

And a' to be a ])osie 
To my ain doar May. 

Tho liawthoni 1 will yn 

Wi' its locks ()' siller g'vay, 
"Wlioro, like an ativd man, 

It stands at break of day. 
But the songster's nest vitliin tlio bush 

I winna tak away — 
And a' to be a }Hisi(> 

To my ain dear .May. 

Tho woodbine T will \ni 

^yheu the e'ening star is near. 
And the diamond draps o' dew 

Shall be \wv e'lMi sae elear; 
Tho violet's tor nimlesty, 

AVhieh wet'l she fa's to wear. 
And a to be a posio 

To my dear iMay. 

I'll tie the ]»osie round, 

Wi' the silken band o' luvo, 
And I'll plaee it in her breast, 

And I'll swear by a' above, 
That to my latest drauiiht of life 

Tho band shall ne'er remove. 
And this will be a posio 

To my ain dear ^lay. 



R B K II T BURN S. 473 

COUNTRY LASSIE. 

Tunc — " The Oonntri/ Lass." 

\.\ ininnisriipt coiiy licfdm iiic, in tlui iidol'H Iiiiiulwritiiij,', in-OBonls two or throo iiiinm- 
tn-iiil MirJatiuiiH of this (lr;iiiiatio wm^'.| 

In isiniincr when tlio liiiy w;is iimwii, 

And corn wavM s^nuMi in ilka field, 
While elaver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield; 
Blithe Bessie in the milking .shiel, 

Says — I'll be wed, come o't what will ; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild — 

O' guid advisement conies nae ill. 

It's ye hac wooers niony ano, 

And, lassie, ye'rc but young, yc ken 
Then wait a wee, and eannie wale, 

A routliio butt, a routine ben : 
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre; 
Tak this f'rao'nie, my bonnie hen. 

It's plenty beets the luver's fire. 

For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flic; 
He lo'cs sae wecl his craps and kyc, 

lie has nae luve to spare for me : 
But blitlie's the blink o' Ilobie's e'c, 

And wecl I wat he lo'es nie dear : 
Ae blink o' him I wad nae gic 

For Buskic-glcn and a' his gear. 

thoughtless lassie, life's a faught; 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair; 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 

An hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as yc brew, my nuiidcu fair. 

Keep mind that ye maun driidc the yill. 
40 » 



-iT-1 T 11 !■: r o !•: t i c a l w o n k s of 

0, gear will buy mo rigs o' land, 

And goal- will buy nio sboop and kyo ; 
l^nt tlio ttMulor boart o' loosomo luvo, 

Tbo ii'itwd and sillor canna buy; 
Wo may bo poor — l\obio and I, 

Light is tbo burdoii luve laj^s on ; 
Contont and luvo brings pcaco and joy — 

What mair hae quoons upon a throno ? 



F A I R K h I Z A . 

.1 Oinlic Air. 



[Tlio nnmo of tho heroino of (his song was at first HaWiia: but Johnson, fho jinMishiT, 
nliinuiMl at lutmitthis soniolhins now into vorsi>. c-nuscd Kliza to bo substitutoil : wliich was 
a positivo fi':uul; for Kabiiia was a ival laily, and a lovely ono. and Kliza one of ;iir.l 

Turn again, tluni fair Eliza, 

Ao kind blink boforo wo part, 
l\uo on tliy dospairing lovor ! 

Canst thou broak his faithfu' boart i* 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to lovo thy boart donios, 
For pity hido tho oruol sontoneo 

Uudor friondship's kind disgniso! 

Thoe, doar maid, bao I oiVondod ? 

The offence is loving thoo : 
Canst thou wreck his poaoo for over, 

"Wba for thine wad gladly dio ? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throo ; 
Turn again, thou lovely niaidon, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In tbo pride o' sunny noon ; 
Not tbo little sporting fairy. 

All bonoath tho simmer moon; 



ROBERT BURNS. 475 

Not the poet, in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his e'c, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 

Tuno — " Yc Jacobites hi/ name." 

[•• Ye Jacobites by iianu'," appeared for the first time in the Museum : it was sent in 
tlie hiindwriting of Burns.] 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear; 
Ye Jacobites by name, 

Y^our fautes I will proclaim, 

Your doctrines I maun blame — 
You shall hear. 

What is right, and what is wrang, by the law, by the law ? 
What is right and what is wrang, by the law ? 
What is right and what is wrang ? 
A short sword, and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar, fam'd afar? 
What makes heroic strife, fam'd afar? 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife. 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bluidie war. 

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone in the state ; 
Then let your schemes alone, 
Adore the rising sun, 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



476 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

THE BANKS 0' DOON. 

[PinST YEUSIOX.] 

[An Ayrshire loj^rtnid says tho luMvino of this atTootlnir souse was Miss KmuuMy, of P.il- 
gariwk. a young oroatuiv, l>o;\utiful and aooomptisliixi, who fi>ll a victim to hor love for 
hor liiusiuau, MoOoual. of Uojan.] 

Yk tloworv bauks o' bonnio Doon, 
How can yo bloom sao fair; 
ow oau YO chant, ye little binl;?, 
Ami I sao fu' o' care ! 

Thou'U break my heart, thou bonnie bird. 

That singj! upon the bough j 
Thou uiiuds me o' the happy days 

"When my fause love was true. 

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonuie bird, 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the woodbine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its love j 

And sae did I o' mine. 

"\Vi' lightsome heart I pu'd a wse, 

Frae aft" its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 

Eut left the thorn wi' me. 



THE BANKS 0' DOON. 

[SKCOXD ATSRSIOX.] 

Tune — " fiiWoHittM Htmt'g Ddiyht." 

[Ihirns Injuiwl somowhat tho simplicity of the am;; by ailaptini; it to a new air. aivi- 
Jcntally ivmjHxstsl Vy an aniatcui- wfco was aii\vtt\l, if ho aesir^M to civate a Scottish .-ur, 
to ktvp his fiust>rs to the hlack keys of tUo haipsicliorvl and pwscrvo rhythm.] 

Ye banks and bnies o' bonnio Poon. 
IIow oan yo bloom s;te fresh and fair ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 

IIow can yc cliaut, ye little birds, 

Aud I sac weary, fu' o' care ! 
Tiiou'U break luy heart, thou warbliug bird, 

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : 
Thou minds nie o' departed joys, 

Departed — never to return ! 

Aft hac I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve. 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree j 
And my fause luver stole my rose, 

But, uh ! he loft the thorn wi' me. 



WILLIE WASTLE. 

Tune—" The ii,/lit Men of Moklart." 



[Thp person who is rniscd to the disasvecnUo olovation of horoino of this song, was, it is 
fiiiil, ii fsinnor's wifo of tho old school of domi'Stic euro imd uucleauuess, who livud nigh 

the poet, lit Ellishuul ] 

AViLLiE Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie, 

"Willie was a wabster gnid, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie; 

Ho had a wife was dour and din, 

Tinkler Madgie was her mither ; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

1 wad luie gie a button for her. 

She has an e'e — she has but ane. 

The cat has twa the very colour : 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller: 
A whiskin' beard about her niou', 

Her nose and chin they threaten ithcr — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad nae gie a button for her. 



478 T 11 i; V o i: r 1 1' a l w o u k s or 

Sho's bow luniii'liM, she's horn shiniiM, 

A limpiii' lop;, a hand-bivoil sluirter; 
8Iio"s Iwistod right, she's twisted left. 

To Imlaiiee fair in ilka quarter : 
8he has a hump upou her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shouther — 
Sie a wife as ^Villie had, 

I wad uae gie a button l\n* her. 

Auld bautlrans by the iniile sits, 

An' wi' her hiot' her faee a-washiu* ; 
l>ut ^Villie's wife is uae sae triu;, 

She diirhts her li'runzie wi' a hushiou. 
Her walie nieves like luidden-ereels, 

Her faee wad fvle the Lo^i•au-^Vater — 
8ie a wife as Willie had, 

I wad uae uive a buiton for her. 



LADY MAKY AN.\. 
Tune — " Ci'»ltjlotc»'» «/i"otrt'Hi/. 



|1^u< (>oot sont this souj; t»i tlio Mnsoum, in his own haiulwritiii;;: yot part of it is 
I'oliovoil tolvoW; how muoU »-!>\inot lu< woll kiu>\vi\, with suoh skill has ho uijulo his 
lii(oi'|H>lntloiis ttuil eU««vos,l 

liAin' jMarv Ann 

Looks ti'er the eastlo wa', 
She saw three bonnio bovs 

riaving at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The tlower aiuang them a' — 
iMy boniue ladilie's young, 

Init he's growin' yet. 

father! O father! 

An' ye think it lit, 
We'll send him a year 

To the eoUege yet : 
We'll sew a greeu ribbon 

Kound about his hat, 



K 15 !•: i{ r n i; u n s. ■i'i'J 

And thiit will lot (liciu koa 
lie's to marry yet. 

Lady IMniy Aim 

Was a llowcr i' tlu- dow, 
8\voct was its smell, 

And bonnio was its hue; 
And (he laiij;-ei- it Mossom'd 

'i'lio s\ve(>tor it i^rew; 
For the lily in the bnd 

AVill be bomner yi-t. 

Young Charlie Cochran 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And strauii'ht was its make : 
The sun took deliLiht, 

To shine for its sake, 
Ami it will bt^ the brag 

()' the forest yet. 

The simmer is gano, 

When the leases thoy wore green, 
And the days are awa, 

That we hae seen; 
]5ut far better days 

I trust will come again, 
For my boniue laddie's young, 

But he's growin' yet. 



SUCH A PAllCEIi OF JlOtiUMS IN A N.\TION. 

Tuue — "A parcel a/ rui/iirn in <i txitimi." 

(Tliis Hoiip was writti'ii In- Itunis ii\ ii iiidiiii'iit of linncst iinlii^iialinn iit (lu' ikiiIIum-h 
pcoumlivls who Hold to thosi' of tlio so\itli \\w iiuli'|nMiilciuv of Sim11:iiu1, at Ui« timo of 
tho Uuiou.] 

Farewkici,, to a' our Scottish fame, 

Fareweel our ancient glory, 
Fareweel I'ven to the Scottish name, 

Sae fam'd in martial story. 



480 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 
And Tweed rius to the ocean, 

To mai'k where England's province stands- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. 

What force or guile could not subdue, 

Thro' many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain ; 

Secure in valour's station ; 
But English gold has been our bane — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. 

would, or I had seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld gray head had lien iu clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour, 

I'll mak' this declaration ; 
We're bought and sold for English gold — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN BRAES. 

Tune—" KcUyhurn Braes." 

[Of this song Mrs. Burns said to Cromek, when running her finger over the long list 
of Ivriis which her husljaud had written or amended for the Sluseuni, '■ Robert gae this 
one a terrible brushing." A considerable portion of the old still remains.] 

There lived a carle on Kellyburn braes, 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

And he had a wife was the plague o' his days ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Ae day as the carle gaed up the lang glen, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

He met wi' the devil; says, "How do yow fen?" 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 



ROBERT BURNS. 481 

"I've got a bad wife, sir; that's a' my complaint; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint ; 

And the thyme it is wither d, and rue is in prime." 

" It's neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have, 
And the thyme it is withcr'd, and rue is in prime." 

" welcome, most kindly," the blythe carle said, 
(Hey, and tlie rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

'' But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye're ca'd, 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 

The devil has got the auld wife on his back; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 
And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

He's carried her hame to his aiu hallan-door; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 
Syne bade her gae in, for a b — h and a w — e, 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). 

Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud bear, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

Whate'er she gat hands on cam near her nae mair ; 
And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

A reekit wee devil looks over the wa' ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
" 0, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a'. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 

The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
41 



482 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

He pitied the man that was tied to a wife ; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

The devil he swore by the kirk and tho bell, 
(Iley, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 

He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in hell; 
And the thyme it is wither' d, and rue is in prime. 

Then Satan has travcll'd again wi' his pack; 

(Iley, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
And to her auld husband he's carried her back : 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. 

" I hae been a devil the feck o' my life ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 
But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife; 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime." 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS. 

Tune — "Jockey's ta'cn tJic partinf/ kinn." 

[Burns, when lio sent this song to the Museum, said nothing of its origin : and he is 
silent about it in liis memoranda.] 

Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss. 

O'er the mountains he is gane; 
And with him is a' my bliss, 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 
Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 

Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 
Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 

Drifting o'er the frozen plain. 

"When the shades of evening creep 

O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 
Sound and safely may he sleep, 

Sweetly blithe his waukening be ! 
He will think on her he loves. 

Fondly he'll repeat her name; 
For where'er he distant roves. 

Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



ROBEKT BURNS. 483 



LADY ONLIE. 

Tune—" The Ruffian's Rant." 

[Communicated to the Museum in the handwriting of Burns : part, but not much, is 
believed to be old.] 

A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, 
They'll step ia an' talc' a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 

Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky; 
I wish her sale for her gude ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky ; 
And cheerlie blinks the inglc-glecd 
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her gude ale. 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

Tune — " Captain O'Kean." 

[■•'Composed," says Burns to M'Murdo, ".at the desire of a frieud who had an equ;'.l 
enthusiasm for the air and the subject." The friend alluded to is supposed to be Kohert 
Cle"-hQrn : he loved the air much, and he was much of a Jacobite.] 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 

The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale ; 
The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the morning, 

And wild scatter' d cowslips bedeck the green dale : 
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 

While the lingering moments are number'd by care; 
No flow'rs gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 

Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 



484 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice, 

A king aud a father to place on his throne? 
His right are those hills, aud his right are these valleys. 

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none; 
But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn ; 

My brave gallant friends ! 'tis your ruin I mourn j 
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot-bloody trial — 

Alas ! I can make you no sweeter return ! 



SONG OF DEATH. 

Tunc — " Oraii an Doig." 



["I have just fiuished the following song," says Burns to Mrs. Dunlop, "which to a 
lady, the descendant of AVallace, and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither 
preface nor apology."] 

Scene — A field of battle. Time of the day, evening. The wounded and dying of the victo- 
rious ariuy are supposed to join in the following song : 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 

Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
Farewell loves aud friendships, ye dear tender tics — 

Our race of existence is run ! 

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe ! 

Go frighten the coward and slave ; 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 

No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 

Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he sinks in the dark. 

Nor saves e'en the Avreck of a name ; 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fitme ! 

In the field of proud honour — our swords in our hands, 

Our king and our country to save — 
"While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 

Oh ! who would not die with the brave ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 485 

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. 

Tune — "A/ton Water." 

[The scpnes on Afton Water are beautiful, and the poet felt them, as well as the generous 
kindness of his earliest patroness, Mrs. General Stewart, of Afton-lodge, when he %vrote 
this sweet pastoral.] 

Flow gently, sweet Afton ! among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream — 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stoclc-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen; 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den ; 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear — 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton ! thy neighbouring hills, 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ! 
There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea. 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. 
And winds by the cot where my 3Iary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. 
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton ! among thy green braes. 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ! 
jMy Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream — 
Flow gently, sweet Afton ! disturb not her dream ! 



480 



T II K ro i;t I (" A I, wo I! K S () K 



'I'll K SM 1 l/I N(! SI'i! 1 N(!. 

Tkik" " '/'/(-■ Honnir /Ir//." 

I" WnuuU' lli'll." \v;is llrsl |Miiili'.l in llii' Miistniiii: who IIm- licroiiio WMH Urn ]i()('t ImS 
llUgU'CllMl to Irll IH. Mii.l il Ih a pil.v.l 

TiiK smiliiii;' Spriiiu,' comcH in rcjoiciiiii;, 

And surly ^Villt('^ t;rimly (lies; 
Now ci'vstiil I'li'iir \ivr llii' I'iilliiii!; wiilcrs, 

And Iiiiiinic Mm- Jirc l\\c Sdiiiiy skies; 
Frcsli (•'('!■ I lie ni(Hiiit!iiiis l)r(>;il<s lorlli (lie niorniiii;', 

'riid ('vcnini;' i;ilds llic (i('<':iirs swell; 
j\ll crealiires joy in llie sun's relurnini;', 

And I ic'idiet' in my bnimie IJell. 

Tin- lldwery S|irinu' leinls sunny Siinnuer, 

And yidliiw Aulnnin |iresses ne;ir, 
'I'lien in liis I urn cdnies idintniv Winter, 

Tiii suiilini'; Sprini^' ;iii;nn ;i]i|u';ir. 
'I'lius Seasons daiu'iuL:,', life advaneiiiL;', 

Old Tinn! and Na(\iri> llieir (diant^'es tell, 
\\\[{. nev(>r raii'dni;', slill un(diiiiiL;'iiiii', 

I adore ni\ Imnnie ISell. 



TIIK CAIiMlS OK DVSAKT. 
'Puiio — " lliji lit' Ihid'." 

lOoiiimunli'iitiMl to (1i(< l\fns(>uni h\ llunis in InMown tiMiKlwilllnij:; |i!iit nfK Is liis cnni- 
l>oslllii||, mill Hiiinn lu'linvii tlii' wliuli^. | 

I ' 1' \vi' (lie eacles d' Dysarl, 

And I he lads o' Muekliaven, 
And tlie kiunners o' liar^o, 
And I lie lasses o' |je\'en. 

I ley, ca' thro', ea' thro', 

Vor we liao luieUle ado ; 
lley, ea' lliro', ea' thro', 
h'or we hae uiiekle ado. 



1!. O U r, II T lUl 1{ N s. 



•187 



We li;ic (mIcs Id Ivll, 

And \vi' li:i(^ s;iiit;s lo .siii;i,'j 
\\'{' li;i(' |ii'iiiii('S Id ,s|i('ii(l, 

A 11(1 we line piiils Id hriii^'. 

Wd'll live ;i' diir diiys, 

And llicin I li.'il cdiiic licliiii', 
L*'|. Iliciii dd llic like, 

And s|iciid tlu! near llicy win. 
II(^V, •'!>' ll"'<»'» '"i' tlii'd', 

l''di' we line inickic ado, 
J Icy, ca,' til I'd', vd dim', 
For wo Inu! iiiicklo iido. 



T II l<: (i A 1,1. A N T W K A V K II. 

Tuno— " Tlt<! \Vr(,rrr«' Mitnli." 

IHi'iit. by lli(< |»M.| I.. Ili« MiiMoiiiii. Nrillior tnnlKloii imi' cilUriKiu liiiH nollcod 11, \n\\. 
Uir Nniifj; iH |M.|Hil;i>' Amnuf'. III.' Ioolih. In Iho wi'hl, of Sim.I liiiiil.{ 

\Viii';i(K Carl- rliis I'dvvin Id llui hcji, 
I'y iiidiiv a lldw'r and spreading' lr(!(', 
Tlicni lives a lad, llic lad i'di- iiic, 

lie is a. ;;allanli weaver. 
Oh, I had Wdiiers alight or nine, 
They jiied iiie lilies and rilthmis line; 
7\nd I was I'ear'd my liearl Wdiild line. 

And I liied il, Id I he weaver. 

]\[y (laddie siiin'd my liieher jiand, 
'I'd tiie I he I.ail lli.al, h;is I he land ; 
]{|il 1(1 my liearl. I 'II add my iiand, 

And ^;i(! it lo the weaver. 
AVhile liirds rejoice in leafy Iiowers ; 
Wliihi hees deli^.'hl, in d|('iiinii; flowers; 
While cdi'ii ^rows j;reeii in simmer shdwers, 

I'll lovo my gill Ian L woiiviir. 



488 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

THE BAIRNS GAT OUT. 

Tunc — " The denies (huif/ o'er mi) dnddie." 

[Rurns found some of (bo scntinipnts and a few of the words of this song iu .a striiin, 
nitlu'V lou^h and homespun, of i^cotlaud's elder day. lie communicated it to the Museum.] 

The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout, 

Tho douks dang o'er my daddio, ! 
The ficu'-ma-caro, quo' the feirie auld wife, 

lie was but a paidlin body, ! 
He paidles out, an' he paidles in. 

An' he paidles late an' early, ! 
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, 

An' he is but a fusionless carlie, ! 

0, hand your tongue, iny feirie auld wife, 

0, hand your tongue, now Nansie, I 
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 

Ye wadna been sac donsie, ! 
I've scon the day ye butter'd uiy brose, 

And cuddled uie late and early, ! 
But downa do's come o'er me now. 

And, oh ! I feel it sairly, ! 



SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 

Tunc — " She's fair and faiise." 

[One of tho happiest as well as tho most sarcastic of the sougs of the North : tho air is 
almost as happy as tho words.] 

She's fair and fause that causes my smart, 

I lo'od her moikle and lang; 
She's brokeii her vow, she's broken my heart, 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, 
Ami I hae tint my dearest dear; 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass c;an2;. 



ROBERT BURNS. 489 

Whae'er ye be that woman love, 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis tlio' fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind. 
woman, lovely woman fair ! 
An angel form's fa'n to thy share, 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair — 

I mean an au<iel mind. 



THE EXCISEMAN. 

Tunc — " The Dcil ccim' Jiddlinr/ tlii-niifjh the town." 

[Composed ami sung by the iiott at a festive meeting of the excisemen of the Dumfries 
district.] 

Till-; di'il earn' fiddling through the town, 

And danced awa wi' the Exciseman, 
And ilka wife cries — " Auld 3Iahoun, 
I wish you luck o' the prize, man !" 
The deil's awa, the dcil's awa, 

The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman ; 
He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa. 
He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman ! 

We'll mak our maut, we'll brew our drink, 
We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man; 

And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil 
That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. 

There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, 

There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 
But the ae best dance e'er cam to the land 
Was — the deil's awa wi' the Exciseman. 
The deil's awa, the deil's awa. 

The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman : 
He's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa. 
He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. 



490 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. 

Tune — "Lass of Inverness." 

[As Burns passed slowly over the moor of Culloden, in one of his Highland tours, the 
lament of the Lass of Inverness, it is said, rose on his fancy : the first four lines are 
partly old.] 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn, she cries, alas ! 

And ay the saut tear blin's her e'e : 
Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see : 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrons; to thine or thee. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

Tune — " Graham's Strathspri/." 



[Some editors have pleased themselves with tracing the sentiments of this song in certain 
street ballads : it resembles them as much as a sour sloe resembles a dropripe damson.] 

0, MY luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June : 
0, my luve's like the melodic, 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will kive thee still, my dear, 

'Till a' the seas gang dry. 



ROBERT BURNS. 491 

'Till a' the seas gang dry, my clear, 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 
I will luve thee still, my dear, 

While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 

And fare thee weel a-while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 



LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY TIIEE. 

Tune — "Louis, what reck I hy thee." 

[The Jeannie of this very short, hut very clever song, is Mrs. Burns. Her name has no 
chance of passing from the earth if impassioned verse can preserve it.] 

Louis, what reck I by thee. 

Or Geordie on his ocean ? 
Dyvor, beggar loons to me — 

I reign in Jeanuie's bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me, 

Kings and nations — swith, awa ! 
Eeif randies, I disown ye ! 



HAD I THE WYTE. 

Tune — "Had I the icyte she hade me." 

[Burns in evoking this song out of the old verses did not cast wholly out the spirit of 
ancient license in which our minstrels indulged. He sent It to the Museum.] 

Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, 

Had I the wyte she bade me; 
She watch' d me by the hie-gate side, 

And up the loan she shaw'd me; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me ; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I li"hted when she bade me. 



492 THE r E T 1 c a l w o r k s of 

Sac cnil'tilic she took luc ben, 

And bade mc make na flatter; 
" For our ramgunshoeb, glum gudeniau 

Is out and owrc the water :" 
■Whae'or shall say I wanted grace 

When I did kiss and dawte her, 
Let him be planted in my place, 

Sync say I was the fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for sluune, 

(\)uld I for shame refused her? 
And wadna manhood been to blame, 

Had T unkindly used her" 
lie clawM her wi' the ripplin-kame. 

And blue and bluidy bruised her; 
When sic a husband was frae hame, 

AVhat wife but had excused her? 

I dighted ay her ecu sae blue, 

■ And bann'd the cruel randy ; 
And weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar-candy. 
A gloamin-shot it was I wot, 

I lighted on the Monday; 
But I cam through the Tysday's dew, 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



COMING TIIKOUGII THE KYE. 

Tuno — " Cniiiiiif/ ihiong'i the >\i/c." 

fTlvo yioot iu this soiiii; voinovfa somo of tlio coar.-io clialT. from tho old chtuU. and fit tod 
it lor tho .Musoum, wlu-ro it was tii'st lU'intod.J 

Coming througli the rye, poor body, 

Coining through the rye, 

She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 

Jenny's a' wat, })oor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
Coming- throuuh the rve. 



ROBERT BURNS. 493 

Gin a body meet a body — 

Coming through the rye, 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body cry ? 

Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the glen, 
Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need the warld ken ? 

Jenny's a' wat, poor body; 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She di'aiglet a' her pctticoatie, 
Coming through the rye. 



YOUNG JAMIE, PIIIDE OF A' THE PLAIN. 

Tune — '• The Gaiiin o' the Glen." 
»»Jcijt to the Museum by Burns iu his own handwriting : part only is tbouglit to bo his.J 

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
Sae gallant and sac gay a swain ; 
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove. 
And reign' d resistless king of love : 
But now wi' sighs and starting tears. 
He strays amang the woods and briers ; 
Or in the glens and rocky caves 
His sad complaining dowie raves. 

I wha sae late did range and rove. 
And chang'd with every moon my love, 
I little thought the time was near, 
Repentance I should buy sae dear : 
The slighted maids my torment see, 
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; 
While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair, 
Forbids me e'er to see her mair ! 



42 



4!»4 THE P E T 1 C A L W R K S OF 

OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Tunc — " Charlie Gordun's Welcome Hame." 

[Tn one of his letters to Cunnin,i;ham, ilatwl 11 th Jlardi, 1791, Burns quoted the four 
last lines nf this tender and gentle lyrie, and inquires huw he likes them.] 

Out over tlie Fortli I look to the iiovth, 

l^ut what is the nortli and its Highlands to me ? 

The south nor the cast gie case to my breast, 
The far foreign laud, or the wild rolling sea. 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be ; 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my btibie and me. 



THE LASS OF ECOLEFECIIAN. 

Tunc — " Jdvlqi Latin." 

[Burns in one of his professional \isits to Kcelefeohan, was amused with a rough old 
district song, which some one sung: he rendered, at a leisure moment, the language more 
delicate and the seutimeuts less warm, aud sent it to the Museum.] 

Gat ye me, gat ye me, 

gat ye me wi' nacthing ? 
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A niickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour, my gntchcr has 

A hieh house and a laigh ane, 
A' for bye, my bonnie sel'. 

The toss of Ecclefcchan. 

hand your tongue now, Luckie Laing, 

baud your tongue and jauner j 

1 held the gate till you I met. 

Syne I began to wander : 
I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure : 

But your green graiF, now, Luckie Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 



ROBERT BURNS. 495 

THE COOPER 0' CUDDIE. 

Tune — "Bah at the Boivster." 

[The wit of tliis song is better than its deliracy : it is printed in the Museum, with the 
name of Burns attached.] 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa, 
Aud ca'd the girrs out owre us a' — 
And our gude-wife has gotten a ca' 
That anger'd the silly gude-man, 0. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door; 
Behind the door, behind the door; 
We'll hide the cooper behind the door, 
And cover him under a mawn, 0. 

He sought them out, he sought them in, 
Wi' deil hae her ! and, deil hae him ! 
But the body was sae doited aud bliu'. 
He wist na where he was gaun, 0. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at morn, 
'Till our gude-man has gotten the scorn ; 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn, 
Aud swears that they shall stan', 0. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 

Behind the door, behind the door; 

We'll hide the cooper behind the door. 

And cover him under a mawn, 0. 



SOMEBODY. 

Tune — "Fur the sake of somebody/." 

[Burns seems to have borrowed two or three lines of this lyric from Ramsay: he sent 
it to the Museum.] 

My heart is sair — I dare na tell — 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night 

For the sake o' somebody. 



400 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Oh-lioii ! for somebody ! 
Oli-licy ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' somebody ! 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 

0, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
I'rae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-ln)n ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



THE CARDIN' O'T. 

Tune — " Stdt-Jh-h and dumplhit)!!." 



[••This sons;," *'■''>'*' ^''" Harris Nicolas, " is in tlio Musical Musoun^lnit not with Burus's 
namo to it." It was fsivou by lUivns to .lolmson in his own liandwriting.] 

I OOFT a stane o' ha.^loek woo', 

To make a wat to Johnny o't ; 
For Johnny is my oidy jo, 
I lo'e him best of ony yet. 

The eardin' o't, the spinnin' o't, 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 
"When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the lyuiu o't. 

For though his loeks be lyart gray, 

And tho' his brow be bold aboon ; 
Yet I hac seen him on a day. 
The pride of a* the pari,*hen. 

The eardin' o't, the spinnin' o't. 

The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't; 
"When ilka oil eost me a groat, 
The tailor staw the Ivnin o't. 



ROBERT BURNS. 497 

AVIIEN JANUAR' WIND. 

Tune — " The lass that made the bed for me." 

[Hums found an old, clever, but not very decorous strain, recording an adventure which 
Charles the Second, while under Presbyterian rule in Scotland, had with a young lady 
of llie house of I'ort Ijetbam. and exercising his taste and skill upon it, produced the pre- 
sent — still too free song, for the Museum.] 

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, 

As to the north I took my way, 
The mirksome night did me enfauld, 

I knew nae where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met, 

Just in the middle o' my care ; 
And kindly she did me invite 

To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And thank' d her for her courtesic ; 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And bade her mak a bed to me. 

She made the bed baith large and wide, 
\Vi' twa white hands she spread it down ; 

She put the cap to her rosy lips, 

And drank, ''Young man, now sleep ye soun'." 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 
And frae my chamber went wi' ^eed ; 

But I call'd her quickly back again 
To lay some inair below my head. 

A cod she laid below my head. 
And served me with due respect ; 

And to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I put my arms about her neck. 

'* Hand aff your hands, young man," she says, 

" And dinna sae uncivil be : 
If ye hae onie love for me, 

wrang nae my virginitie !" 
42 » 



498 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Hev liair was like the links o' gowd, 
Her teeth -were like the ivoric ; 

Her cheeks like lilies dipt iu wiue, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; 

Her limbs the polish'd marble staue, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 
And ay she wist not what to say ; 

I laid her between me and the wa' — 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow when we rose, 
I thank' d her for her courtesie; 

But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd, 
And said, ''Alas ! ye've ruin'd me." 

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne. 
While the tear stood twinklin iu her e'e; 

I said, "My lassie, dinua cry, 

For ye ay shall mak the bed to me." 

She took her mither's Holland sheets. 
And made them a' in sarks to me: 

Blythe and merry may she be. 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

The bonuie lass made the bed to me, 
The braw lass made the bed to me j 

I'll ne'er forget till the day I die. 
The lass that made the bed to me ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 499 

SAE FAR AWA. 

Tune — "Dalkeith Ifaidcn Bridfje." 
[This song was sent to the Museum hy Burns, in his own handwriting.] 

0, SAD and heavy should I part, 

But for her sake sue far awa ; 
Unknowing what my way may thwart, 

My native land sae far awa. 
Thou that of a' things Maker art, 

That form'd this Fair sae far awa, 
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 

At this my way sae far awa. 

How true is love to true desert, 

So love to her, sae far awa : 
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart. 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa; 
But fairer never touch' d a heart 

Than hers, the Fair sae far awa. 



I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 

Tune — " I'll fjue nac mair to yon town." 

[Jean Armour inspired this very sweet song. Sir Harris Nicolas says it is printed iu 
Cromek's Keliques: it was finst printed in the Museum.] 

I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again; 
I'll ay ca' in by yon town. 

And see my bonnie Jean again. 
There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail guess. 

What brings me back the gate again ; 
But she my fairest faithfu' lass. 

And stownlins we sail meet again. 



500 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

She'll waucler by the aiken tree, 

When trystiu-time draws near again ; 
And when her lovely form I see, 

haith, she's doubly dear again ! 
I'll ay ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again ; 
I'll ay ca' in by yon town. 

And see my bonnie Jean again. 



0, WAT YE WIIA'S IN YON TOWN. 

Tune — " I'll ni/ ca' in hy yon town." 

[The 'beautiful Lucy Johnstone, married to Oswald, of Auchencruive, was the heroine 
of this song: it was not, however, composed expressly la honour of her charms. "As I 
was a good deal pleased," ho says in a letter to Syme, " with my performance, I. in my 
first fervour, thought of sending it to Mrs. Oswald." He sent it to the Museum, perhaps 
also to the lady.] 

CHORUS. 

0, wat ye wha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon? 
The fairest dame's in yon town, 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw. 
She wanders by yon spreading tree; 

How blest ye flow'rs that round her blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year! 

And doubly welcome be the spring. 
The season to ray Lucy dear. 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town, 

And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr; 
But my delight in you town. 

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
0' Paradise could yield me joy; 



ROBERT BURNS. 501 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky ! 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 

Tho' raging winter rent the air ; 
And she a lovely little flower. 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

sweet is she in you town, 

Yon sinkin' sun's gane down upon ; 
A fairer than's in yon town 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe. 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear; 

1 careless quit all else below, 

But spare me — spare me, Lucy dear ! 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 

A thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 
And she — as fairest is her form ! 
She has the truest, kindest heart ! 
0, wat ye wha's in yon town. 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest dame's in yon town 
That e'enin sun is shinins; on. 



MAY, THY MORN. 

Tune — "May, thy morn." 



[Our lyrical legends nssiicn the inspiration of this strain to the accomplishei Clarinda. 
It has been omitted by Chambei's in his "People's Edition" of Burns.] 

May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet 

As the mirk night o' December; 
For sparkling was the rosy wine. 

And private was the chamber : 
And dear was she I dare na name, 

But I will ay remember. 
And dear was she I dare na name, 

But I will ay remember. 



»">02 T II H rOHTlOAl, WOKKS OF 

Ami hero's to tlioni, that, liko oursol, 

Tan push about tho joruin ; 
And horo's to thorn that wish us wool. 

May a' that's <;ui(.l watoh o'or thoui I 
Auil horo's to thoui wo daro na toll, 

Tho (loarost o' tho (juoruui. 
And horo's to thoui wo daro ua toll, 

Tho doai'ost o' tho quorum I 



1,0V KIA' VOIA.Y STIAVAUT. 

Tuno — " )'(■■(•(> welcome, Chnrlie Stewart." 

[T\w poofs oyo W!vs on Polly Sti'wnvt, l>ut his iiiiiul sooms to Imvo boon with Chsrlie 
Sti'wnrt, ami tJio .InooMlo hntlails, whoii \\o pouuotl tiioso woals; — thoy aw iu the 
Musoum.l 

(,) i.ovKi.Y Tollv Stowart I 

ohanniuj:- I'oUy Stowart! 
Thoro's uot a llowor that blooms in iMay 

That's halt' so fair as thou art. 
Tho tU)Wor it blaws, it i'ados ami fa's. 

Ami art oau iio'or ronow it ; 
But worth and truth otornal youth 

Will !;ivo to Tolly Stowart. 

May ho wlu>so arms shall fauhl thy ohanns. 

IVssoss a loal ami truo hoart ; 
To him bo u'iveu to kou tho hoavon 

Ho grasps in Polly Stowart. 
O lovoly Tolly Stowart! 

O ohariuiuii' IMIy Stowart ! 
Thoro's no'or a ilowor that blooms in ^Ma.y 

That's half so swoot as thou art. 



11 n K R 'r I? u R N s. 503 

T II E II U J 1 1 L AND LAD I) I E. 

Tunc — " If than It plutj iiic fair pl<ii/." 

[A Idiiu; nnd woarisomc (lilly, cnlloil '■'IMk! I[i;,'lilan(l l.ad aiul liOwlaiul Lnssio," which 
lUinis fniiipi'es.soii into tlioso stanzas, for Johnson's Mnscuiii.] 

The bonniest lad that o'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie, IIi<i,lihui(l huldio. 
Wore a ])lai(l, and was i'n' braw, 

Bonnii! lii<2,liland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

])()niiie laddie, IIi<!;bland laddie; 
His royal heart was firm and true, 

]}()unio lli^liland laddie. 

Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lowland lassie j 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Jjowlaiul lassie, 
(jlory, honour, nuw invite, 

B(jnnie lassie, Jjowlaiid lassie. 
For freedom and my king to fight, 

Bonnie J Rowland lassie. 

The sun a backward course shall take, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie, 
Ere aught thy manly courage shako, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
Go, for yourself proeure renown, 

Bonnie laddie, liighlaud laddie j 
And for your lawful king, his crown, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 



ANNA, TIIY CHARMS. 

Tunc — " liuiinlc Jllmi/." 



[Tho hornino of this sluirt, swcot son^ is uiilinowu : it was inserted in tlio tliird edilinn 
of his I'oonia.J 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire. 
And waste my soul with care; 



cm 



T II V) roKT I CA 1, W I! IwS () V 



But :ili 1 litiw ))()oll('SS to Jidtiiirc, 

WIhmi I'litcd to (Icspjiir ! 
Yet ill lliy ))n'S(Mic(>, Idvcly l';iir, 

To liopo limy 1)0 lbrp,iv'ii ; 
]<\ir siiro 'twiM'o iiiipioiis to tlt'sjKiir, 

So iiiiicli ill .sii:;Iil, (if llt^iiv'ii. 



CA SSI 1; M S' I? A N K S. 

'I'inu' I iiiiKiuiwii. I 



III !■. sn|.|.nM',l IIimI. " HIkIiImikI l\I;ii-y." win. liviMl Nniiii'liiiicH im riisslllis'H bnnkH.lH tlu) 
Imniliiy ol'tlu'W vi'i-.si's,| 

Mow bank an' Itrac aro claitliM in jirocii, 

An' scalli'r'd cowsliiis swiM-lly sjiriiigj 
J?Y liirvan's I'airv-lianiUcd stroaiii, 

'I'lio birdios Hit on wanton wiiij;-. 
To (^'iiH.sillis' banks when o'cnint^ fii't<, 

Tlioro wi' my IMary lot iiic floo, 
Thoro caUli her ilka ^laiu'c of love, 

Till' bininii' liliiik o' iMary's o'o ! 

'JMio t'liicld wlia boasts o' warld's wallli 

Is nftoii laird o' inoiklo ciuv; 
]Jut ]Mavy slio is a' my aiii — 

All ! fortuiio caniia L!:io im> iiiair. 
Then lot 1110 ran>;o by (^issillis' banks, 

WV lior, till" lassio doar lo mo, 
Ami oaloli lior ilka t;laiioo o' lovo, 

The boniiio blink o' Mary's o'c ! 



TO TIIKH. lA)Vi;i> MTll. 

'I'luu- [unknown.] 

I'riiiMV an> sincMl viivhitinns onImiiI of tlioso versos, iu\il ;in\oi)u; o(lii-rs om- wliiili Irniis- 
foi's Iho (inilso Inmi llio NHh (o llio Deo: but to llu' D.m-. if tlu- pool siioUo in his own 
|)oi'(ion, no sni'li Inthu'iu'os oonlil lu'loiip;.] 

T(i tlioo. lov'd Nitli, (by _i;ladsomo iilains, 
Wlioro Into wi' oaroloss tboui;lvt 1 raiii;-'d, 



It(» I'. !•: I! 'I' r. II 1! N H. 



.^05 



Tli()U'j,h ])\vM, vvi' ciirt! :iii(l suiilc in w<)<!, 
To lli(H) I l)riiii^' ii li(wirfc iiiicliaiigM, 

I lov'c! (,li(!o, Nilli, l,Iiy buiilcH niid bnioH, 
'I'lio' iiKiiii'ry tlirro my Imsoiii Ur.w' ; 

lAir (licrc lie nivM l:li:ir hr.ikc my lu-iirl, 
Vci, U> Uiat- liciirl,, :il> ! .slJIl Ih.w (Ic;u' ! 



I'.ANN(I(!KS ()• I'.AKIJ-IY. 

'I'lim^ " 77»; Ki/ln;/,;-." 



["TIiIh Hr.)ip( In In llin MiiKciiiii " wiyM Mir Iliiri'lM NIcoIhh, " Imt wllliniil, IIiimiim'n niim<«." 
liiii'iiM (xiriU ii|i nil 1)1(1 Kiitii;, mill liillliiK hhiiik ul' Ihn ulil woi'ilN Htiiriil, liil'ilKuil (i •liivubllo 
xpli'll iiiti) il, wrolK II: mil, mill mmiI II lu llm Mui«'Umi.| 

J{ann<»(!KS o' Ix'iir mciil, 

HiiiiiUK^kH (»' b.irlcy ; 
Honi's Id llio Ili;ilil;iii(lmiiirH 

I{;iiiiiiti'ks ()' hurley. 
Wliii- ill a l)iiil/,ir 

Will lifHt (!ry a |>:irl(!y '/ 
Never IIk^ lads \vi' 

'I'lie liaiiiiucks o' barley. 

liMiiiioelis ()' bear meal, 

l*>aiiiiiiel<s ()' barley ; 
Here's to tli(! lails wi' 

TIk! baiiii(iel<H ()' liarley. 
Wlia ill Ills wae-dayM 

Were loyal (o Obarlio ? 
Wlia biif, tli(! lads wi' 

'i'lie baiiiioeI\H o' ))arl(!y '( 



r.i 



50(5 THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

IIEE BALOU. 

Tune—" The nifjidand Balov. 

[" Published in the Musical Museum," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "but without the name 
of the author." It is an old strain, eked out and amended by Burns, and sent to the 
Museum in his own handwriting.] 

Hee balou ! my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highh^ud thief. 

Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie, 
An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie : 
Travel the country thro' and thro' 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 

Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border, 
Weel, my babie, may thou furder : 
Herry the louns o' the laigh countree, 
Syne to the Highlands hame to me. 



WAE IS MY HEART. 

Tune — " Wue is mij heart." 



[Composed, it is said, at the request of Clarke, the musician, who felt, or imagined he 
felt, some pangs of heart for one of the loveliest young ladies in Nithsdale, I'hillis M'Murdo] 

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e ; 
Lang, laug, joy's been a stranger to me; 
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear. 
And the sweet voice of pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 

Love, thou hast pleasures, and deep hae I loved ; 
Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I proved ; 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, 
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 

O, if I were where happy I hae been, 
Down by yon stream, and yon bonnie castle green ; 
For there he is wand'ring, and musing on me, 
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e. 



ROBERT BURNS. 507 

HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. 

Tune — " 27(6 Joh of Jourmy-ioorh." 

[Burns took the hint of this song from an older and less decorous strain, and wrote these 
words, it has been said in humorous allusion to the condition in which Jean Armour 
found herself before marriage; as if Burns could he capable of anything so insulting. 
The words are in the Museum.] 

Altho' my back be at the wa', 

An' tho' he be the fautor ; 
Altho' my back be at the wa', 

Yet here's his health in water! 
! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie he could flatter; 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair, 

And dree the kiutra clatter. 
But tho' my back be at the wa', 

And tho' he be the fautor; 
But tho' my back be at the wa', 

Yet here's his health in water ! 



MY PEGGY'S FACE. 

Tune — "J/^ P'^il'Jll'^ Face." 



[Composed in honour of ^liss Margaret Chalmers, afterwards Mrs. Lewis Hay, one of 
the wise.< and. it is said, the wittiest of all the poet's lady correspondents. Burns, in 
the uote in which he communir-ated it to Johnson, said he had a strong private reason 
for wishing it to appear in the second volume of the Museum.] 

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind. 
Might charm the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air. 
Her face so truly, heav'nly fair,. 
Her native grace so void of art. 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

The lily's hue, the rose's dye. 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 



508 THE r E T I C A L W R K S OF 

Who but owns their magic sway ! 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pityiiig tear. 
The geu'rous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look, that rage disarms — 
These are all immortal charms. 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

Tunc — " Waiiden'iif/ Willie." 



[These verses were, it is said, inspired lij' Clariuda, and must be talvcn as a record of his 
fivliiii^s at partins witli one dear to him to tlie latest moments of existence — the Mrs. Mac 
of many a toast, botli in serious and festive liours.] 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! 

Ancc mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care : 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; 
But the dire feeling, farewell for ever ! 

Is anguish unmingied, and agony pure. 

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

'Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ' 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair. 



MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T. 

Tune — " Gnijffs Pipes." 

[Most of tliis sons is from tlio pen of Burns: he corrected the improprieties, and infused 
some of his own lyric genius into the old strain, and printed the result in the Museum.] 

My lady's gown, there's gairs upon't, 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 509 

Ijiit Jenny's jinips and jirkinet, 

My lord thinks niciklc mair upou't. 

My lord a-hunting lie is gane, 

But hounds or hawks wi' him arc nanc; 

By Colin's cottage lies his game 

If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 

My lady's white, my lady's red, 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude ; 
But her tcn-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Wharc gor-cocks thro' the heather pass. 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A lily in a wilderness. 

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs, 
Like music notes o' lovers' hymns : 
The diamond dew is her een sae blue, 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 

INIy lady's dink, my lady's drest. 
The flower and fancy o' the west; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
that's the lass to make him blest. 
My lady's gown, there's gairs upou't, 
And gowdcn flowers sae rare upon't; 
But Jenny's jimps aud jirkinet. 
My lord thinks raeikle mair upon't. 



AMANG THE TREES. 

Tunc — " TIio King of France, he rade a rare." 

[Eurns wrote those vurscs in .scorn of those, and they are many, who profur 
"The capon craws and queer ha ha'H!" 
of emasculated Italy to the original and delicious airs, Ilifrhlaiid and Lowland, of old Cale. 
douia: the song is a fragment — the more's the pity.] 

Amano the trees, where humming bees 
At buds and flowers were hinging, 0, 
43 » 



510 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Auld CalcJou drew out licr drone, 
Aud to her pipe was singing, ; 

'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels. 
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, 0, 

When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels, 
That dang her tapsaltcerie, 0. 

Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, 

They made our lugs grow eerie, O ; 
The hungry bike did scrape and pike, 

'Till we were wae and weary, ; 
But a royal ghaist wha ance was cas'd 

A prisoner aughteen year awa, 
He fir'd a fiddler in the north 

That dang them tapsaltcerie, 0. 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. 

Tune — "Banks of Banna." 

["Anne with the .aokli-n looks," one of the nttenJant niakhnis in Burns's howlT. in 
Dumfries, was very fair and very tractable, aud, as may be surmised from the sons;, had 
other pretty ways to render herself agreeable to the customers than the serving of wine. 
Burns recommended this song to Thomson ; and one of his editors makes him say, •■ I 
think this is one of the best love-songs I ever composed," but these are not the words of 
Burns; this contradiction is made openly, lest it should be thought that the bard had the 
bad taste to prefer this strain to dozens of others more simple, more impassioned, and 
more natural.] 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hxingry Jew in wilderness 

Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs tak the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie nie within my straining grasp 

The meltiuu; form of Anna. 



ROBERT BURNS. 511 

There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An empress or sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna! 

Awa, thou flauntiog god o' day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana I 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come in thy raven plumage, night ! 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a' j 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 

The kirk an' state may join, and tell 

To do sic things I maunna : 
The kirk and state may gang to hell, 
- And I'll gae to my Anna. 
She is the sunshine of my e'e. 

To live but her I canna : 
Had I on earth but wishes three. 

The fii'st should be my Anna. 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE, 0. 

[This is the first song composed by Burns for the national collection of Thomson : it was 
written in October, 1792. " On reading over the Lea-rig," ho says, " I immediately set 
about trying my hand on it, and, after all, I could make nothing more of it than the 
following." The first and second verses were only sent: Burns added the third and last 
verse in December.] 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field 

Return sae dowf and weary, O ! 
Down by the burn, where scented birks^ 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo ; 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, ! 

1 For " scented birks," in some copies, " birken buds." 



512 THE r E T I C A L W R K S OF 

In mii-kost glen, at miclDight hour, 

I'd rovo, ami ne'er be eerie, Oj 
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, 

JMy ain kind dearie, ! 
AUho' the night were ne'er sae Avikl, 

And I wore ne'er sae weary, 0, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun. 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; 
At uoou the fisher seeks the glen, 

Alang the burn to steer, my jo; 
Gie me the hour o' gioamin gray, 

It maks my heart sae cheery, 0, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

jMy ain kind dearie, ! 



TO 3IAKY CAMPBELL. 



[•• In my very early ycai-;:." says Hums to Thomson, '• when 1 was thinkinc of soinj: to 
the West Imlies. I took the followinj; farewell of ii dear girl. You must know that all my 
earlier love-songs were the breathings of aiilent passion, and though it might have Wen 
easy in after times to have given them a polish, yet that polish, to me, would have defaced 
thi> legend of my lieart. so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, 
as they say of wines, their race." The heroine of this early composition was Highland 
Mary.]" 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

And leave old Scotia's shore ? 
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 

Across th' Atlantic's roar? 

sweet grows the lime and the orange, 
And the apple on the pine ; 

But a' tlie charms o' the Indie 
Can never eqiutl thine. 

1 hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 

I hae sworn by the Heavens to be true ; 
And sao may the Heavens forget me, 
When I forget my vow ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 518 

plight me your faith, my Mary, 

Aud plight mc your lily white hand ; 
plight me your faith, my Mary, 

Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hac plighted our troth, my Mary, 

In mutual aficction to join ; 
And curst be the cause that shall part us ! 

The hour and the moment o' time ! 



THE WINSOxME WEE THING. 

[These words were written for Thomson : or rather matlo oxtcmporo. "T might give 
you something more profound," says tlio poet, "yet it might not suit the light-horse 
gallop of the air, so well as this random clink."] 

She is a winsomo wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 
I never lo'ed a dearer; 
And niest my heart I'll wear her, 
For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The world's wrack we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't; 
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



Ol4 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



BONNIE LESLEY. 

[" I have just," pays lUivns to Thomson, " been looking on v the ' Collier's bonnie Daugh- 
ter,' and if the following rhapsody, which I composed the other day. on a charming Ayr- 
shire girl, Jliss Lesli^y Uaillie, as she passed through this place to Kngland, will suit your 
taste better than the ' Collier Lassie,' fall on and welcome." This lady was soon afterwards 
married to Mr. Cuming, of Logie.] 

SAW ye bonnie Lesley 

xis ylie ga'cd o'er tte border? 
She's ganc, like Alexander, 

To spread lier conquests farther. 

To see lier is to love her, 

And love but her for ever ; 
For Nature made her what she is, 

And never made auithcr ! 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee : 
Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The dcil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
And say, " I canna wrang thee." 

The powei's aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee : 
Thour't like themselves so lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 



^ 



Ecturn again, fair Lesley, } 

Return to Caledoniej 
That we may brag, we hae a lass 

There's uane asiain sac bonnie. 



ROBERT BURNS. 515 

HIGHLAND MARY. 

Tune — " Cittherine Or/ic." 

[Mary Campbell, of who=;e worth .ind beauty Burns has .sung with such deep foelhig. 
was the d.aughter of a manner, who lived in Greenock. She became acciiiainted with the 
poot while on service at the castle of Montgomery, and their strolls in the woods and their 
roaming trystes only served to deepen and settle their affections. Their love had much 
of the solemn as well as of the romantic : on the day of their separation they plighted 
their mutual faith by the exchange of Bibles: they stood with a running .stream between 
them, and lifting up water in their hands vowed love while woods grew and waters ran. 
The Bible which the poet gave was elegantly bound: '-Ye shall not swear by my name 
falsely," was written in the bold Mauchline hand of Burns, and underneath was his name, 
and his mark as a freemason. They parted to meet no more: Mary Campbell was carried 
off suddenly by a burning fever, and the first intimation which the poet had of her fate, 
was when, it is said, he visited her friends to meet her on her return from Cowal, whither 
she had gone to make arrangements for her marriage. The Bible is in the keeping of her 
relations : we have seen a lock of her hair ; it was very long and very bright, and of a hue 
deeper than the flaxen. The song was written for Thomson's work.] 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There Simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the Longest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

0' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom' d the gay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp' d her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me, as light and life. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary ! 

Wi' mouy a vow, and lock'd embrace. 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! — 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 



516 T II !•] POETIC A L W H K S OF 

pale, palo now, those rosy lips 

I aft liae kissed sae fondly ! 
And clos'd for ay the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on nie sae kindly ! 
And monldering now in silent dust, 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly — 
]5ut still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary ! 



AULD HOB MORRIS. 



[The startiii!; linos of this song aro from ono of no littlo merit in Uauisay s collection : 
the olil strain is sarcastic; the new strain is ten^lov: it was wi-itten for Thomson.] 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen. 
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men ; 
He has gowd in his coft'ers, he has owseu and kiue, 

And ae boniiio lassie, his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; 
She's sweet as the ev'uing amang the new hay ; 
As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

But oh ! she's an heiress, — auld Robin's a laird 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed ; 
The wounds I must hide that will soon bo my doad. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is ganc : 
I wander my lane like a night-troubled gliaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad bui-st in my breast. 

had she but been of a lower degree, 

1 then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ! 
0, how past descriving had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 517 



DUNCAN G R A Y. 

[Tliis Duiiciin (iray of Burim, has nolhiiij; in poiummi with tlio wilil old soujj: of tliat 
nanio, save tho first lino, and a part of thu tliiril, neither has it any sluue in the .sonti- 
nu'nts (if an earlier strain, with tbo samo title, by the same hand. It was written for the 
work of Thomson.] 

Duncan Gray cam here to avoo, 

Ila, ha, the W(X)iiig o't; 
Ou blythc yule night when we were fou, 

Ila, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; 

Ila, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan flecch'd, and Duncan pray'd. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o'tj 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ila, ha, tlie wooing o't. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his ecu baith blcer't and blin', 
Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn; 

Ila, ha., the wooing o't. 

Time and chance arc but a tide, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ila, ha, the wooing o't. 
Shall I, like a fool, ([uoth he, 
For a haughty hi/.zie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 

Ila, ha, the wooing o't. 

How it comes let doctors tell. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Meg grew sick — as he grew heal, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings : 
And 0, her een, they spak sic things : 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
44 



51S THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 

Maggie's was a piteous case, 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan could na be her death, 

Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 

Now they're crouse and canty baith. 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



POOETITH CAULD. 

Tune — " T had a horse." 



[Jean Lorimer, the Chloris and the " Lassie with the liut-white locks" of Burns, was the 
heroine of tliis exquisite lyric: she was !it that time very young; her shape was fine,, and 
her •• climiilei.1 cheek and cherry niou" will be long remembered in Nithsdale.] 

rooRTiTii oauld, and restless love, 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortith a' I could forgive. 
An' twere na' for my Jeanie. 

why should fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bauds untwining? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on fortune's shining ? 

This wnrld's wealth when I think on, 

It's pride, and a' the lave o't — 
Fie, fie on silly coward man. 

That he should be the slave o't ! 

Her ecu sae bonnie blue betray 

How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her o'erword ay. 

She talks of rank and fashion. 

wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? 



ROBERT BURNS. 519 

IIow blest the liuiublc cotter's fate ! ' 

lie wooes bis simple dearie ; 

The silly bogles, wealth and state, 

Can never make them eerie. 

why should Fate sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 
Depend on Fortune's shining ? 



G A L L A WATER. 



[•'(lalln Water" is an improvwl vorj-ion nf an cnrliin- soup; by livirns : Ijut both songs 
ewe some of their attractions to an olilur strain, whicli the ex(iuisite air lius uiade poijuhir 
over the world. It was written for Thomson.] 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro' the blooming heather • 

But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws 
Can match the lads o' Galla "Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; 
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine. 

The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 

Altho' his daddie was nae laird, 

And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher; 
Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth. 
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



1 " The wild-wood Indian's Fate," in the original MS. 



520 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 



LORD GREGORY. 

[Dr. Wolcot wrote a Lord Gregory for Thomson's collection, in imitation of which Burns 
wrote liis, and tlie Enijlishman complained, with an oath, that the Scotcliman sought to 
rol) him of the merit of his composition. AVolcot's .song was, indeed, written first, but 
they arc Tinth but imitations of that most exquisite old liallad, " Fair Annie of Lochryan.'' 
which neither AVoicot nor Uurus valued as it deserved: it far surpasses both their songs.] 

MIRK, mirk is this uiiduight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar; 
A waefu' wauderer seeks thy tow'r, 

Lord Gregory, ope thy door ! 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it may uae he. 

Lord Gregory, miud'st thou not the grove 

By bonnie Irwin-side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

I laug, lang had denied ? 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow 

Thou wad for ay be mine; 
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast — 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

wilt thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above. 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare and pardon my fause love, 

His wrangs to heaven and me ! 



I 



ROBERT BURNS. 521 

MARY MORI SON. 

Tune — "Bide ye yet." 

["The song prefixed," observes Burns to Thomson, "is one of my juvenile works. I 
leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits or its 
demerits." "Of all the productions of Burns," says Ilazlitt, "the pathetic and serious 
love-songs which he has left behind him, in the manner of the old ballads, are, perhaps, 
those which take the deepest and most lasting hold of the mind. Such are the lines to 
Mary Morison." The song is supposed to have been written on one of a family of Mori- 
sons of Mauchline.] 

Mary, at thy wiudow be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 

That make the miser's treasure poor : 
How blithely wad I bide the stourc, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison ! 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha'. 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

" Ye are na Mary Morison.'^ 

Mai-y, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his,. 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



O'lZ TlIK POETICAL WORKS OF 

WANDERING WILLIE. 

[I'UIST VEIiSION.] 

[The idea of this song is taken from verses of the same name publisbcil by Herd: the 
heroine is supposed to have been the aeoomplisheil Mrs. Uiddel. Ei-sUiue and Thomson 
sat iu judsrment upon it. and, like true critios, squeezed mueh of the natural and oriiiinal 
spirit out of it. Burns approved of their alterations; but he approved, uo doubt, iu bit- 
terness of spirit.] 

Hkue awa, there awa, waudciing "Willie, 
Now tired with wauderiug, hand awa hame ; 

Coiuc to 111}' bosom, my ae only dearie, 

And tell me thou bring' st me my Willie the same. 

Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; 

It was na the blast brought tlio tear in my e'o ; 
Now weleome tlie simmer, and welcome my Willie, 

The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers ! 

how your wild horrors a lover alarms ! 
Awaken, ye breezes, vow gently, yo billows, 

And waft my dear laddie aiice mair to my arms. 

But if he's forgotten his faithfulest Nannie, 

still flow between us, thou wide roaring main; 

31ay I never see it, may I never trow it. 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

[last VERSION".] 



[This is the •• Wan lerinjr Willie" as altered by Krskine and Thom.sou. and approved by 
Burns, after rejeetiug several of their emendations. The chausies were made ehietiy with 
the view of harmonizing the words with the music — an Italian mode of mending tbo 
harmony of the human voice.] 

Hkke awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 

Here awa, there awa, haud awa harae; 
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 

Tell me thou bring' st me my Willie the same. 



R 1'. R 11 T BURN S. 523 

Wi liter winds blew loiul and ciuild fit our partinu-, 
Fears for uiy Willie br()nt;ht tears in my e'e; 

Welcome now simmer, and weleome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, 

ilow your dread howlinp; a lover alarms ! 
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows. 

And waft my dear laddie anee mair to my arms. 

But oil, if he's faithless, and minds na his Naniii(!, 
Flow still between us, thou wide roaring uiuiii ; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it. 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. 



OPEN THE DOOll TO ME, Oil ! 

[Written for Thomson's collGctiou: the firnt version whicli ho wrote was not happy in 
its Imnnony: IJiirus altered and corrected it as it now stands, aud then said, "1 do not 
know irUiis song be reully mended."] 

Oir, open the door, some pity to show. 

Oh, open the door to me. Oh ! ' 
Tho' thou has been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, Oh ! 
The frost that freezes the life at my lieart, ■ 

Is nought to my pains frae thee. Oh ! 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave. 

And time is setting with me. Oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee. Oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain. Oh ! 
My true love ! she cried, and sank down by his side. 

Never to rise again. Oh! 

1 This second line was originally — " Iflovu it may ua le, Oh!" 



524 THE roETiCAL works of 

JESSIE. 

Tiino — "Bonnie Dundee." 

[Jessie Staig, the eldest daughter of the provost of Dumfries, was the heroiuo of this 
song. She became a wife and a mother, hut died early in life: she is still alfectiouately 
rcmemhered in her native place.] 

True hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

Aud fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river, 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and olegauce fetter her lover. 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

0, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

Aud sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 

Enthron'd in her eeu he delivers his law : 
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger — 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a' ! 



THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER 

Air—" The Mill, Mill, 0." 

[Burns, it is said, composed this song, once very popular, on hearing a maimed soldier 
relate his adventures, at Ihownhill, in Nithsdale: it was published by Thomson, after 
suggesting some alterations, which were properly rejected.] 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawu. 

And gentle peace returning, 
"Wi' mony a sweet babe latherless. 

And mony a widow mourning; 
I left the lines and tented field. 

Where lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 



TvOBERT BURNS. 525 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstaiii'd wi' plunder; 
And fur fair Scotia, liame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought ujion the hanks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonny glen, 

Where early life I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, 

Where Nancy aft I courted : 
Wha spied I but my aiu dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 

That in my cen was swelling. 

Wi' altcr'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
! happy, happy, may he be 

That's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang, 

And fain wad be thy lodger; 
I've serv'd my king and country laug — 

Take pity on a sodger, 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever; 
Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'd, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge — the dear cockade — 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gaz'd — she rcddcn'd like a rose — 

Sync pale like ouie lily; 
She sank within my arms, and cried, 

Art thou my aiu dear Willie ? 



52C THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

By him who made yon sun and sky- 
By whom true love's regarded, 

I am the man ; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded ! 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hanie, 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 
Quo' she, my graudsire left me gowd, 

A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the sodger's pi'ize, 

The sodger's wealth is honour; 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger ; 
Remember he's his country's stay, 

In day and hour of danger. 



MEG 0' THE MILL. 

Air — " Hi ij ! bonnie lass, will you lie in a bc.rraek ?" 

[••Do you Unow ii fine air," Burns asks Thomson, April, 1703, '-called '.Tackio lUuno's 
Liiinuut?' I liavu si son^ of considorable merit to thtit air: I'll enclose you both song and 
tune, as I havo thorn ready to send to the Museum." It is probable that Thomson 
liked these yerses too well to let them ^Q willingly from his hands: Burns touched up 
tho old song with the same starling line, hut a less delicate conclusion, and published it 
in the Jluseum.] 

KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

Tho Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy; 
A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady : 



i 



ROBEllT BURNS. 527 

The Laird was a widdiofu', bleerit knurl ; 
She's left the guid-felluw and ta'eu the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving; 
The Laird did address her wi' matter inair inovini!-, 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side and a bouuie side-saddle. 

wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing; 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen ! 
A tocher's nac word in a true lover's jjarle, 
73ut gie me my love, and a iig for the warl ! 



BLYTllE HAE I BEEN. 

Tune — " Liyjerum Cosh." 



[limns, who seldom praised his own compositions, told Thomson, forwho.se work ho 
wrote it, thut "Blythe hae I been on yon liill," was one of tlio finest songs ho had ever 
made in his life, and composed on one of the most lovely women in the world. The 
heroine was Miss Lesley Baillie.J 

Blythe hae I been on yon hill 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free 

As the breeze flew o'er me. 
Now nae longer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me; 
Lesley is sae fair and coy. 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task. 

Hopeless love declaring : 
Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r. 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws 

In my bosom swelling. 
Underneath the grass-green sod 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



•'")28 T 11 K V O H 'I' I C A 1, WO 1! K S (» F 



T-0(5 A N M' ATK II. 

f" Iliivi' .v<ui over, my itoiir sii'," says litinis to 'riiniiisnn, •2i>[h .liini-. ITO.'l, ''I'l'lt yo\ir 
linsntii n'luly to Ixirst willi iiulliviialiiiii on roiidiiin nl" llinso iiiisility villains wlm lUviilo 
kliisidom ajjalnsl Uiiiifilom, ilcsoluto jn'oviiiri-s, niul lay iiatiim.i waste, out of tlu' wimtmi- 
li(>ss ol'unililtioii. or oHon tVoni still morn i^tnoldc p»ssioi\s ,' In a mooil of (his Uiiid tn-ilay 
1 vcoollivtotl til.' air of l,o,-an Wator. If I liavo ilono anytlilnt; at. all liUc justiro to my 
livllnns. tlu< foUowiuj!; sonjr, composoil in tlnviiiiuarloi'S of an lioui'.s nuililation in my 
olliowcliair, oujihf to Iwivo soiuo moril." 'I'lio poff liail in mimi. too. duilntj tills \H)iMio 111, 
tlio lioaulifill Koiijt v( l.u;;an-linu's, by my fiionii Jolm Mayuc, a Nillisilali' poi't. 

liOti.VN, .'^woctly ilidst (li.ni ulidi', 
Tluit (l;iy 1 w;is my Wiilii''s luidr I 
And yt'ars siii>yni' liiio o"or us run. 
Like Ijognn to (lir .siuinuM" sun. 
]?i\t now tliy ilt»\v'ry biiidvS iippcar 
]iik(> druinli(< winter, dark :ind droar, 
Wliilo my dour lad UKiiin laco liis t'aos, 
I'ar, far I'rai' iin' and liO<j,aii hraos ! 

Ap,'ain lh(> niiMry mmilli o' IMay 

ITas inado our hills and valleys ,uay ; 

Tlio birds rojiiiet* in leafy bowers, 

Tlio boos liuin nunid llu" breatliiiiL:.' llowors ; 

IJlylho jMorniii!:;' lilts his ro.sy oye, 

And KvoniiiLj's tears tiro tears of joy : 

JMy soul, de1ii;'htless, a' surveys, 

"While Willie's far frao Lo<;an braes. 



AVithin you niilk-Mhito liawlhoni bush, 
Ainauii' ht>r nostliuji'S sits tlui thrush ; 
]ler faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or \vi' his soni>' her eares beguile : 
]}ut 1, \vi' uiy sweet nnrslimrs here, 
Nao mate to iielp, nae mate to vheer. 
Pass widow'd nijihts and joyless days. 
AVhilo Willio'.s far frae .liO_i;au braos. 

O wae \i])ou you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hale I 
As ye make mony a fond h(>art mount, 
8ae mav it on vour heads return I 



i: (> i; !■: i; t i; ii ii, n h. r>2!) 

IfdW ('Mil yoiir lliiity lioiirLs oiijoy 
TIk- wIiIdw'h l(!;irH, Uk! (trpliiin's c^ry i" 
lliil, Sduii iii.'iy pc'KM! Iti'iiiir Ii,'i|(|iy diiyw, 
And Willie liiinic (o lid'jiiii |)^;l(^s I 



TIIK KKD, IMH) i;()SM. 

>\ir- " //((.//(/.• (Iniliiiiii." 

I'l'licm Mm wiiHcli.iH (ifiild Kdiiir Hd i' v| II IkIIoI y IImc l,lm(-, IIKp Inicliil-nd c'rvljil, (ll".V '•'1,11- 
iKil- hii iiKMicli'il uroki'd (Jill, wlllidiil, hIiowIiih wIiitc (Imi IimikI iif (lie n'slcrci' liiiN lii'i'ii, 

ThlH H.WI11M Uin nlHcl Willi (ll« lll'Hl, VIM-HCol'tlllMMdllK, which lIlK |in|.|, llHIIIll III VVItllcl^lMltlll, 
llllll comilldlnl hy IlKMI'Mllldll (inilliNcmnil V<'IW, wlilrli ho Inll, lu l„. Illlnl Inr, l,y ,|,nlll|in 

TlioiiiHiiii Id iiinUi< hln own Hid llrnt, vnw, iiml Irl, Hid dHin- Idlldw, wlili h wdiiM ('onrliMld 
lliu nIi'IiIii wllh II IhdiiKhl iih ln'iiiiliriil 1114 II wiim drl)<iiuil.{ 

( ) WKitK my Idvc yciii liliu! Ciiir, 

Wi' |Mir|il(' lilos.MiiiiiH (() lJi(( Mjiriii^'; 
And I, ii Itinl to slicKfr tlicro, 

When vvr;iri('i! mi iiiy lillli- wiiit;' ! 
lldvv I \v;hI iiioiirii, wIh'H '\\. \v;im (oni 

J>_y .-iiiliiiMii wild, iiiid wiiilrr i'iid(! ! 
But I Wild hIiii^' oh w.iiiIoh wiiij;', 

Wlii'H yniillirii' M;iy ils lilnoin rciiewf'd. 

gill my Idvc \V(n"(! yon rrd ro,s(!, 

Thut fj;rowH upon IIk! c^iisUo wii' ; 
And I Tiiywd' u diiij) o' dew, 

Into li(!r l)oniii(! ))roaHt to lu' I 
Oh, thoro boyoiid (iXpn^sHion MeHl, 

I'd fciiHt on b(!!iut_y ji,' tim iii;:;lit; 
iSciMJ'd on her Hillf-Siil't niiilds to rest, 

Till lioy'd awu by i'lueliiis' light. 



Orlglnnlly— 

" Yd mlml im, 'iiilil your criidl Jnyx, 
'I'hd wIiIow'm IciiiK, Iho oriiliuu'K ciioN." 



Aj 



THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 



BONNIE JEAN. 

[Jean M'Murdo, the heroine of this song, the eldest da'is;hter of John M'Murdo of 
Di'umlanrig, was, botli in merit and look, very worthy of so sweet a strain, and justified 
the poet from the charge made against him in the West, that his beauties were not other 
men's beauties. In the M'Murdo manuscript, in Burns's handwriting, there is a well- 
merited compliment which has slipt out of the printed copy in Thomson : — 

"Thy handsovie foot thou shalt na set 
In barn or byre to trouble thee."] 

There was a lass, and she was fair, 

At kirk and market to be seen, 
When a' the fairest maids were met, 

The fairest maid was bouuie Jean. 

And aye she wrought her mammie's wark. 

And ay she sang so merrilie : 
The blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little liutwhite's nest; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers. 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad. 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 

And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist. 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 

As in the bosom o' the stream. 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. 

And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na what her ail might be, 
Or what wad mak her weel again. 



ROBERT BURNS. 531 

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, 

And did na joy blink in her e'e, 
As Robie tauld a tale of love, 

Ae e'euin' on the lily lea? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 
His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 

And whisper' d thus his tale o' love : 

Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; 

canst thou think to fancy me ! 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge. 

Or naething else to trouble thee ; 
But stray amang the heather-bells, 

And tent the waving corn wi' me. 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had uae will to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was ay between them twa. 



PIIILLIS THE FAIR. 

Tune — " Robin Adair." 



[The ladies of the M'Murdo family were graceful and beautiful, aud lucky in finding a 
poet capable of recording their charms in lasting strains. The heroine of this song was 
Phillis M'Murdo; a favourite of the poet. The verses were composed at the request of 
Clarke, the musician, who believed himself in love with his '• charming pupil." She 
laughed at the presumptuous fiddler.] 

While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air. 
Tasting the breathing spring, 

Forth I did fare : 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high; 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 



THE POETICAL AV R K S OP 

In each bird's careless song, 

Glad I did share; 
While yon wild flowers among, 

Chance led me there : 
Sweet to the opening day, 
Kosebuds bent the dewy spray; 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 

Down in a shady walk 

Doves cooing were, 
I mark'd the cruel hawk, 

Caught in a snare : 
So kind may fortune be, 
Such make his destiny ! 
He who would injure thee, 

Phillis the fair. 



HAD I A CAVE. 

Tune — " Rohin Adair." 



[Alexander Cunningham, on whose unfortunate love-adventure Burns composed this 
song for Thomson, was a jeweller in Edinburgh, well connected, and of agreeable and 
polished manners. Tlie story of his faithless mistress was the talk of Edinburgh, in 1793, 
■when these words were written : the hero of the lay has been long dead ; the heroine 
resides, a widow, in Edinburgh.] 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 

Whei'e the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar ; 
There would I weep my woes. 
There seek my lost repose, 

Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare. 
All thy fond plighted vows — fleeting as air ! 
To thy new lover hie. 
Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
Then in thy bosom try 
"What peace is there ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 533 



BY ALLAN STREAM. 

[" Bravo! say I,"' exclaimed Bums, when he wrote these verses for Thomson. •' It Ls 
a good song. Should you think so too, not else, you can set the music to it, and let the 
other follow as Eugli.sh verses. Autumn is my propitious .season; I make more ver.^es iu 
it than all the year else." The old song of •• my love Annie's very bounie," helped the 
muse of Burns with this lyric] 

By Allan stream I chanced to rove 

While Phoebus sank beyond Bciiledi; 
The winds were whispering through the grove, 

The yellow corn was waving ready; 
I listened to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' jileasures ninny : 
And aye the wild wood echoes rang — 

dearly do I lo'e thee, Annie ! 

happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast 

She sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever !" 
While mony a ki.ss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, — we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae. 

The Simmer joys the flocks to follow; 
How cheery thro' her shortening day, 

Is Autumn, in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart. 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her our bosom's treasure ? 



45 « 



534 T II !•: POETIC A L W 11 K S OF 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU. 

[Til Olio of till- variiitians of this song tho name of the heroine is Jennio : the song itself 
owes some oftlio sentiments as well as words to an okl favourite N'ithsilale chant of tho 
same name. "Is ■\Vhistle. ami I'll oome to yoii, my lad," Burns imjuires of Thomson, 
"one of your airs? 1 admire it much, and yesterday I set the lollewing verses to it." 
Tho poet, two years afterwards, altered the fourth lino thus: — 

"Thy Jeany will venture wi' yo, my lad," 
and assigned this reason : "In fact, a fair dame at whose .shrine 1. the pri(>st of the Nine, 
olTer up tho incense of Parnassus ; a dame whom tho Graces have attired in witchcraft, 
and whom the Loves have armed with lightning; a fair one, herself the heroine of the 
song, insists on the amendment, and dispute her commands if you dare."] 

WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad, 
whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mithcr and a' should gae mad, 
O Avhistlo, and I'll oome to you, my lad. 
But warily tent, Avhen you come to court me, 
And come nae unless the back-yctt be a-jce; 
Sync up the back-stile, and let naebody see, 
And come as ye were ua comin' to me. 
And come as ye were na comin' to mc. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet mc. 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie ; 
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were nae lookin' at me. 
Yet look as ye were nae lookin' at me. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee ; 
But court nae anither, tho' jokin' ye be. 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 
whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad : 
Tho' father and mithcr and a' should gac mad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 



ROBERT BURN S. 



ADOWN WINDING NITII. 



[" Mr. Clarko," Fays Burns to Thomson, "begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your 
book, as she is a puvticuliir Hame of Iiis. Shn is a Miss Phillis M'Murdo, sister to ' Bonnie 
Jean;' tliey are both .pupils of liis." This lady afterwards became Mrs. Normau Lock- 
hart, of Coruwath.] 

Adown winding NitU I did wander, 

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring ; 
Adown Aviiiding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties, 

They never wi' her can compare : 
Whaevcr has met wi' my Phillis, 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amused my fond fancy. 

So artless, so simple, so wild ; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 

For she is simplicity's child. 

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer. 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prcst : 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer aiid purer her breast. 

You knot of gay flowers in the arbour. 
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : 

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine. 
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye. 

Her voice is the song of the morning. 

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove. 

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting, 

The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties. 

They never wi' her can compare : 
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 



536 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

COME, LET ME TAKE TIIEE. 

Air — " Cfdihf Kail." 

[Burns composed this lyric in August, 1793, anil tradition says it was produced by tlio 
chiirnis of Jean Lorimer. '"That tune, Cauld Kail," he says to Thomson, "is such a 
favourite of yours, that I once more roved out yestenlay for a gloamin-shot at the Muse? ; 
when the 51use that presides over the shores of Nith, or rather my old inspiring, deare>t 
nymph, Coila, whispered me the following."] 

Come, let me take thee to mj breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
And I sliall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur : 
And do I hear uiy Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her ? 
I ask for dearest life alone, 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my anus, wi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp my countless trcnsure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

[From the old song of "Daintie Davie" Burns has borrowed only the title and the mea- 
sure. The ancient strain records how the Kev. Havid Williamson, to escape the pursuit 
of the dragoons, in the time of the persecution, was hid, by the devout Lady of Cherrytrees, 
in the same bed with her ailing daughter. The divine lived to have six wives beside the 
daughter of the Lady of Cherrytrees. and other children besides the one which his hiding 
from the dragoons produced. When Charles the Second was told of the adventure and 
its upshot, he is said to have exclaimed, '• God's fish ! that beats me and the oak : the mau 
ought to be made a bishop."] 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers j 
And now conies in my happy hours. 
To wander wi' my Pavie. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe. 
Dainty Pavie, dainty Davie, 




%!^ 



Page S38 



#K^ 



ROBERT BURNS. 537 

There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
My aiu dear daiuty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A wandering wi' my Davie. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare, 
Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 

When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie, 
There I'll spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 



BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN. 

[first version.] 

Tune — " Hey, tuttie taitie." 

[Syme of Ryedale states that this fine ode was composed during a storm of rain and fire, 
among the wilds of Gleuken in Galloway : the poet himself gives an account much less 
romantic. In speaking of the air to Thomson, he says, " There is a tradition which I 
have met with in many places in Scotland, that it was Robert Bruee's march at the battle 
of Banuockhurn. This thought, in my solitary wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of enthu- 
siasm on the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish 
ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to he the royal Scot's address to his heroic 
followers on that eventful morning." It was written in September, 1793.] 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victorie ! 

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lour : 



Oo8 THE POETICAL W R K S OF 

See approach proud Eihvard's pow'r- 
Chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor-kuave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let hiin turu and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law, 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By our sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow I — 
Let us do or die ! 



BANNOCKBURN. 

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. 

[second version.] 

[Tliomson ncknowlodiicd the chai-m which this martial ami national ode had for him, 
but he disliked the air, .ind proposed to substitute that of Lewis (.iordou in its place. Kut 
Lewis Gordon roiiuired a couple of syllables more in every fourth line, which loaded the 
verse with expletives, and weakened the simple eneriry of the orij;inal : Burns consented 
to the proper alterations, after a slight resistance ; but when Thomson, having succeeded 
in this, pi-opo.sed a change in the expression, no warrior of ]iruce"s d.iy ever resisted more 
sternly the march of a Southron over the border. '-The only line," s.nys the musician, 
■• which I dislike in the whole song is, 

' Welcome to your gory bed :' 
gory presents a disagreeable image to the nilnd, and a prudent general would avoid say- 
ing anything to his soldiers which might tend to make death more frightful than it is." 
'' My ode,"' replied Burns, "ple.ises me so much that I cannot alter it: your proposed 
alterations would, in my opinion, make it tame." Thom.son cries out. like the timid wife of 
Coriolanus, " Oh, t!od, no blood "' while Burns exclaims, like that Roman's heroic mother, 
"Yes. blood! it becames a soldier more than gilt his trophy." The ode as originally 
written was restored afterwards in Thomson's collection.] 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has afteu led ; 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie ! 

Now's tlie clay, aud now's the hour — ■ 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power- 
Edward ! chains and slaveric ! 

Wha will be a traitor-knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sac base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king ami law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By our sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be — shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow ! 
Forw'ard ! let us do, or die ! 



o39 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

Tunc — " Ordit-rjdoil." 



[" The foUowin? song I hnve composed for the Ilighlana air that you tell me in your 
hist you have resolved to give a phiee to in your book. I have this moment finished M.e 
son-, so you have it s,'lowinj,' from the mint." These are the words of liurns to Thomson : 
lie liii-ht have added that the sonf? was written on the meditated voyage of Clarinda to 
the West Indies, to join her husband.] 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; 

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart ! 
Sever'd from thee can I survive? 

y,i\t fate has will'd, aud we must part. 
I'll often greet this surging swell, 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 



)^0 



THE POETICAL WORKS OP 

" E'en hero I took the hist farewell ; 
There, latest iiiark'd her vanish'd sail." 

Aloug the solitary shore 

While flitting sea-fowl round nic cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 

Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 

tell me, does she muse on me ? 



TIIOU HAST LEFT ME EVER. 

Tuno — "Fee Idin, father." 

[•'I iJo not give Uioso versos," saj's Bui-us to Thomson, '-for any merit thoy liavo. I 
composed them at the time in which ' Patio Alhm's mither died, aliout the back o' mid- 
niglit,' and by the lee side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in com- 
pany, except the hautbois and the muse." Tu the poet's intercourse with musicians wo 
owe some fine sougs.] 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie ! 

Thou hast left me ever; 
Thou hast left mo ever, Jamie ! 

Thou hast loft me over. 
Afteu hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever ; 
Now thou's left thy lass for ay — 

I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
I'll see thee never ! 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie ! 

Thou hast me forsaken ; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie I 

Thou hast me f(n'sakon. 
Thou canst love anither jo, 

While my heart is breaking : 
Soon my weary eeu I'll close. 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken ! 



ROBERT BURNS. 541 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

["Ts not the Scotch phrase," Burns writes to Mrs. Dunlop, " Auld lang syne, excoea- 
ingly expressive? There is an old sons !i"d tune ivhich has often thrilled through my 
soul : I shall give you the verses on the other sheet. Light bo the turf on the breast of 
the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment." " The following song," 
says tile poet, when he communicated it to George Thomson, "an old song of the olden 
times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down 
from an old man's singing, is enough to n^commend any air." These are strong words, 
but there can be no doubt that, save for a line or two, we owe the song to no other minstrel 
than "minstrel Burns."] 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to miu' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne ! 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu't the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander' d mony a weary foot, 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

•Frae mornin' sun till dine : 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd. 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught. 

For auld lang syne. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp. 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet. 
For auld lang syne ! 
46 



542 T 11 V. V K T I A L AV K K S OF 

r A 1 R J E A N Y. 

Tunc — " Siiir i/r mi/ fathrr?" 

I In Si>pU>inlior, 1701!, this sdiijj;, as well as sovoral olhor.s, was cnniimiiiii'iitoil to 'riioinsou 
bv Itiiriis. "(U'du' |ioi'tr_v.'' lio says, "1 spiviU with t'dulliloiu'o : Imt llio music is a Imsi- 
luss wlu'io 1 hint my iiloiia with tlio iitmosl dilVuioiioi,'." 

Where arc the joys I have met in the luoiniiiu', 

That tlanc'd to the hirk's early sous;? 
Where is the peace that awaited my wamrriuu, 

At evouiiig the wild woods among ? 

No more a-windinj;!; the course of yon river, 

And niarkinp; sweet flow'rets so lair: 
No more I trai-e the light footsteps of pleasure, 

IJut si)rrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer's forsakiMi our valleys, 

And grim, surly winter is near? 
No, no, the boes' humming round the gay roses, 

Proi'laini it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide, what 1 fear tt> discover. 

Yet long, long too well have T known. 
All that has caused this wrei-k in my bosom, 

Is fleany, fair deany alone. • 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are imnuu'tal. 

Nor hope dare a ccunfort bestow : 
Come then, enanu>ur'd and fond of my anguish, 

iMijovnuMit I'll seek in nw woe. 



l^KLUDED SWAIN, TllK rLKASURE. 

[To tlio air ol" tlio "OoUUm-'s D.iehtoi'," liurns bids Thomson aiKl tbo following old 
Hacchaual : it is slip,htly altoivd from a rather slilt'oriniual.J 

Pin, V OKI) sMain, the ]deasure 

The liekle fair can give thee, 
Is but a fairy trtnisure — 

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 



I! () i; K I! T 15 IJ I'vN S. T)-!;] 

Tlir Mllows itll i\\C. (iccilll, 

Tlio hi'cezcH idly nKiiiiiiig, 
'J"li(> clouds uiic('rt-;nii iiiotimi — 
I'licy ;n'(! but typcH ol' wmiiaii. 

! ;irt iJidii iiol, ;i,sli;iiiH'(l 

'J\) doat, upon !i. Icatun; 'f 
U mail thou wouldst ho uiinicd, 

l>c!Sj)i.si! tlu! silly croaturo. 

(Jo liiid an honest fellow ; 

(Jood claret S(^t iM^I'ori! then: 
Hold oil lill thou art mellow, 

And then to bed in glory. 



NAN (J Y. . 

[This Honp w;\h liiHplrcd Iiy tlio rliiiiiiiK uf Clniiinla. In ijiki of Uio |i(h1'h iiiaiiiiKcil|itn 
Uiu mng comuiuucuH IIiuh: 

TliliK! am I, my lovely Kate, 
Wdll thou iimyoHt dlscovor ; 
Kvcry ])iils(! iiloiin my vi;iiin 
'I'uU till) ttriltitit lovor. 

ThiH chaiiKO wuh Mm\ out orcomplhiiciit, It Ih hollovoil, to MrK. ThoinHon; Ijul Naiii'y iiiii 
moro smoothly on tlu; oven road of lyrical V(^rn() than Kaln. ) 

Think am I, my lailhriil lair, 

'riiiiii!, my lovely Nancy; 
Ev'ry ])uls(! alon<^ my vcinH, 

Kv'ry roving fancy. 

To thy Ihisoiii lay my lieart, 

There to throh and languish : 
Tho' despair lia<l wrung its core, 

That would lieal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips, 

Itich with balmy treasure : 
'J'urn away thine eyes of love, 

Jjcst 1 die with pleasure. 



544 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

What is life when wantiug love ? 

Night without a moruiug : 
Love's the cloudless summer sun, 

Nature gay adorning. 



HUSBAND, HUSBAND. 

Tune — " Jo Janet." 



[" My Jo Janet," in the collection of Allan Ramsay, was iu the poet's eye when he com- 
posed this song, as surely as the matrimonial bickerings recorded by the old minstrels 
were in his mind. lie desires Thomson briefly to tell him how he likes these verses : 
the response of the musician was, " Inimitable."] 

Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir j 
Tho' I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir. 
" One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Is it man or woman, say. 

My spouse, Nancy?" 

If 'tis still the lordly word. 

Service and obedience ; 
I'll desert my sov'reign lord, 

And so, good bye, allegiance ! 
" Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Yet I'll try to make a shift, 

My sjDouse, Nancy." 

My poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust. 

Think, think, how you will bear it. 
" I will hope and trust iu heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Strength to bear it will be given, 

My spouse, Nancy." 



\ 



ROBERT BURNS. 545 

Well, sir, from the silent dead, 

Still I'll try to daunt you ; 
Ever round your midnight bed 

Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 
" I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Then all hell will fly for fear, 

My spouse, Nancy." 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? 

Air — " The Sutor's Dochter." 

[Composed, it is said, in honour of Janet Miller, of Dalswinton, mother to the present Earl 
of Marr, and then, and long after, one of the loveliest women in the south of Scotland.] 

"Wilt thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart. 

Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul, 

That's the love I bear thee ! 

I swear and vow that only thou 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear and vow. 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me; 
Or if thou wilt na be my ain. 
Say na thou' It refuse me : ~ 
If it winna, canna be. 
Thou, for thine may choose me. 
Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 
Lassie, let me quickly die, 
Trustinq- that thou lo'es me. 



46* 



54G THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

BUT LATELY SEEN. 

Tune—"' The Winter of Lif'.'i 

[This song was written for Johnson's Museum, in 1794 : the air is East Indian : it was 
brought from Hindostan by a particular friend of the poet. Thomson set the words to 
the air of Gil Morrice: they are elsewhere set to the tune of the Death of the Linnet.] 

But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoiced the day; 
Thro' gentle showers and laughing flowers, 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled 

On winter blasts awa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Agaiu shall bring them a'. 

But ray white pow, nac kindly thowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of cild, but buss or bield, 

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
Oh ! age has weary days. 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou goldeu time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why comes thou not agaiu ? 



TO MARY. 

Tune — "Could awjht of song." 

[These verses, inspired p.irtly by Hamilton's very tender and elegant song, 
" Ah ! the poor shepherd's mournful fate," 
and some unrecorded '• Mary" of the poet's heart, is in the latter Tolumes of .Tohnson. 
"It is inserted in ,Tohnson's Museum," says Sir Harris Nicolas, '"with the name of 
Burns attached." He might have added that it was sent by Burns, written with his own 
hand.] 

Could aught of song declare my pains. 

Could artful numbers move thee. 
The muse should tell, in labour' d strains, 

Mary, how I love thee ! 
They who but feign a wounded heart 

May teach the lyre to languish ; 



R 1? E 11 T BURNS. 547 

But what avails tlic prido of art, 

When wastes tlic soul with anguish ? 

Tlien let the sudtlou burstiiiji; sigh 

The heart-felt pang discover; 
And in the keen, yet tender eye, 

read th' imploring lover. 
For well I know thy gentle mind 

Disdains art's gay disguising; 
Beyond what Fancy e'er refin'd, 

The voice of nature prizing. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNIE LASS. 

Tune — " Larjgan Burn." 

["Tills son}; is in tlm Mnsiciil Musonm, willi liurns's name to it," says Sir irnrrls Nico- 
las. It is a sojijj; of tlui jiodl's e.'irly <lays, wliicli lu' tiiiiuncil up, .•mil sent to Julinsun.J 

Here's to thy health, my bonnic lass, 

Gude night, and joy be wi' thee; 
I'll come na mair to thy bower-door, 

To tell thee that I lo'c thee. 

dinna think, my pretty pink, 
But I ean live without thee : 

1 vow and swear I dinna care 

How lang ye look about ye. 

Tlinu'i't ay sae free informing me 

'i'liDU hast na mind to marry; 
I'll be as free informing thee 

Nae time hae 1 to tarry. 
I ken thy friends try ilka means, 

Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

JJut fortune may betray thee. 

I ken tliey scorn my low estate, 

But that docs never grieve me; 
But I'm as free as any he, 

Sma' siller will relieve mo. 



548 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

I count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae long as I'll enjoy it : 
I'll fear na scant, I'll bode nae want, 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far off fowls hae feathers fair. 

And ay until ye try them : 
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care. 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright. 

My dear, I'll come and see thee ; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel, 

Nae travel makes him weary. 



THE FAREWELL. 

Tune — "It was a' for our ri<jlitfu' Icinrj." 

[" It seems very doubtful," says Sir Harris Nicolas, " how much, even if any part, of 
this song was written by Burns : it occurs in the Musical Museum, but not with his name." 
Burns, it is believed, rather pruned and beautified an old Scottish lyric, than composed 
this strain entirely. Johnson received it from him in his own handwriting.] 

It was a' for our rightfu' king, 

We left fair Scotland's strand ; 
It was a' for our rightfu' king 

We e'er saw Irish land. 

My dear; 

We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do. 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell. 

For I maun cross the main. 
My dear; 

For I maun cross the main. 

He turn'd him right, and round about 

Upon the Irish shore ; 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore, 
My dear; 

With adieu for evermore. 



EGBERT BURNS. 549 

The sodger from the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love, 

Never to meet again, 

My dear ; 

Never to meet again. 

"When day is gane, and night is come, 

And a' folk bound to sleep ; 
I think on him that's far awa'. 

The lee-lang night, and vreep, 
My dear; 

The lee-lang night, and weep. 



STEER HER UP. 

Tune — '•' steer licv up, and hand her tjaun." 

[Burns, in composing tliese verses, took the introductory lines of an older lyric, eked 
them out in his own way, and sent them to the Museum.] 

STEER her up and hand her gaun — 

Her mother's at the mill, jo; 
And gin she winna take a man, 

E'en let her take her will, jo : 
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss. 

And ca' another gill, jo. 
And gin she take the thing amiss, 

E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. 

steer her up, and be na blate. 

An' gin she take it ill, jo. 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate. 

And time nae longer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, 

But think upon it still, jo, 
That gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'll fin' auither will, jo. 



550 THE r E T I c A L works of 

AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. 

Tune — '■ J/}/ iri/c she dnng me." 

fOthor vorsfs <n the siinu" air. bolonijiii'; to tlio oUlon time:;, nre still rcmomberoa in 
Scotland: but tlu\v avi- only sung when the wine is in, and the sense of delicacy out. 
This song is in the Museum.] 

AY my wife she dang rac, 

Aud aft 1113- wife did bang me, 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Gude faith, she'll soon o'or-gang ye. 
On peace and vest my mind was bent, 

And fool I was I married ; 
But never honest man's intent 

As eursedly miscarried. 

Some sairic comfort still at last, 

When a' their days are done, man; 
My pains 0' hell on earth are past. 

Tin sure 0' bliss aboon, man. 
ay my wife she dang me, 

And aft my wife did bang me, 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Gude faith, she'll soon o'cr-gang ye. 



OIL AVERT TIIOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 

Tune — "Lass o' Llcistouc." 

[Tradition says this .song was compotod iu honour of .lessie Lowars. the Jessie of tho 
pool's death-bed strains. It is inserted in Thonisoii's collection: variations occur iu 
several manuscripts, but they are neither import.^nt nor curious.] 

Oil, wort thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
IMy plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw. 
Thy bield should be niy bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 



R T'. E 11 T BURNS. 551 

Or were I in tlic wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there : 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my ([ueen. 



HERE IS THE GLEN. 

Tunc — " Bxii/.x of Cree." 



[Of the origin of tlii.s song the poet gives the following account. "I got an air, pretty 
enmgb, conipopod by Lady Elizabeth lloron, of Heron, wliich slio calls -The IJniiks of 
Cree.' Cree is a beautiful romantic stream : and as her lady.«hip is a particular friend of 
mine, I have written the following song to it."] 

Here is the glen, and here the bower. 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village-bell has told the hour — 
what can stay my lovely maid ? 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mix'd with some warbler's dying fall, 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove. 
His little, faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou coine ? and art thou true ? 

welcome, dear to love and me ! 
And let us all our vows renew 

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. 



552 THE r E T I c A L works of 

ox THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 

Tunc—" O'er the hilh, <tv." 

[•' Tlio last evoiiini:.'" 29th of August, 1794, '• as I was straying out," snys Bums, " and 
(liiiikin,i; of 'O'er tbo hills and far away,' 1 spun tlio following stanzas for it. I was 
pU'iisea with sevonil linos at first, but 1 own now that it appears rather a flimsy business. 
1 give you leave to abuse this soug, but do it in the spirit of Christian meekness."] 

IIow can my poor lieart bo glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love : 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day, 
Are with him that's far away. 

Ou the seas and tar away, 

On stormy seas and far away ; 

Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day 

Arc ay with him that's far away. 

When in summer's noon I faint, 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun : 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate, do with me what you may — 
Spare but him that's far away ! 

At the starless midnight hour, 

When winter rules with boundless power: 

As the storms the forest tear, 

And thunders rend the howling air, 

Jjistening to the doubling roar, 

Surging on the rocky shore, 

All I can — I weep and pray. 

For his weal that's far away. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 
And bid wild war his ravage end, 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Man with brother iiiiui to meet, 
And as a brother kindly greet: 
Then may heaven with prosp'rous gales, 
Fill my sailor's welcome sails, 
To my arms their charge convey — 
My dear lad that's far away. 
On the seas and far away, 
On stormy seas and far away; 
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day 
Arc ay with him that's far away. 



553 



CA' THE YOWES. 



[Burns fbrmea this song upon an old lyric, an amended version of which he had pre- 
Tiously communicated to the Museum : he was fond of musing in the shadow of Lincluden 
towers, and on the banks of Cluden Water.] 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 

Ca' them whare the heather grows, 

Ca' them whare the buruie rowes — 

My bonnic dearie ! 
Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Cluden's woods amang ! 
Then a faulding let us gang. 

My bonnie dearie. 

We'll gae down by Cluden side. 
Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide 
To the moon sac clearly. 

Yonder Cluden's silent towers, 
Where at moonshine midnight hours. 
O'er the dewy bending flowers. 
Fairies dance bo cheery. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near. 
My bonnie dearie. 
47 



T.IIE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Fair and lovolv as tluni art, 
Thou hast stowii my very heart; 
I can die — but caiuia part — 

]My bonnie dearie ! 
Ca' the yowcs to the knowes, 
Ca' them where the heather grows; 
Ca' them where the burnie rowcs — 

My bonnie dearie ! 



SHE SAYS SHE LOVES ME BEST OF A'. 

Tune — '■ flnagJt's Wiitcr/all." 

[The lady of the flaxen ruiiilots has ah-cai1y been uotioeil: she is deserihed in this sung 
with tlie accuraoy of a painter, anil more tlian the nsual eleijanpe of one: it is needless 
to add her name, or to say how tine her form and how resistUss her smiles.] 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Eewitehingly o'er-arching 

Twa hiughin' een o' buimie bhie. 
Her smiling sae wyling, 

Wad make a Avreteh forget his woe ; 
"What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lijis to grow : 
Such was my Chloris' bonnie faee, 

When first her bonnie face I saw; 
And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like hai'inony her motion; 

Her pretty ankle is a spy, 
Betraying fair pi'oportion. 

Wad mak a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sac charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air; 
Ilk feature — auld Nature 

Deelar'd that she could do no mair; 
Hers are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign law; 



ROBERT BURNS. 555 

And ay my Chloris' dearest charm, 
She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at suuny noon ; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon; 
Fair beaming, and streaming, 

Her silver light the boughs aniang; 
While falling, recalling, 

The amorous thrush concludes his sang ; 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By winipliug burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love. 

And say thou lo'es me best of a' ? 



SAW YE MY PHELY. 

[quasi dicat phillis.] 

Tune — " WJicn sJie cam ben she bohhit." 

[The despairing swain in this song was Stephen Clarice, musician, and the young lady 
whom he persuaded Burns to accuse of inconstancy and coldness was Phillis M'Murdo.] 

SAW ye my dear, my Phely? 
saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love ! 
She wiuna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot. 
And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 

had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy. 



556 THE POETICAL AV II K S OF 

now LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT. 

Tune — " Cauhl Kail in Aberdeen." 

[On comparing this lyric, corrected for Thomson, -witli that in the Museum, it will be 
seen that the former has more of elegance and order : the latter quite as much nature and 
truth : hut there is less of the new than of the old in both.] 

How laug and dreary is the night, 

When I am frae my dearie; 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
For oh ! her lanely nights are lang ; 

And oh ! her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh, her widow' d heart is sair, 
That's gibsent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 

I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 
And now what seas between us roar — 

How can I be but eerie ? 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day how dreary ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by, 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

For oh ! her lanely nights are lang j 

And oh, her dreams are eerie ; 
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair. 
That's absent frae her dearie. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER C03IPLAIN. 

Tune — "Duncan Gray." 

[■• These English songs," thus complains the poet, in the letter whieh convoyed this lyric 
to Thomson, " gravel me to death : I have not that command of tlie language that I have 
of my native tongue. I have been at 'Duncan Gray,' to dress it in English, but all I 
C.1U do is deplorably stupid. For instance :"j 

Let not woman e'er complain 

Of inconstancy in love ; 
Let not woman e'er complain 

Fickle man is apt to rove : 



ROBERT BURNS. 557 

Look abroad through nature's range, 
Nature's mighty hiw is change; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 
Man should then a monster pi'ove ? 

IMark the winds, and mark the skies ; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : 
Sun and moon but set to rise. 

Round and round the seasons go : 
Why then ask of silly man 
To oppose great nature's plan ? 
We'll be constant while we can — 

You can be no more, you know. 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Tune — "Dcil tuk the tours." 

[Burns has, in one of his letters, partly intimated that this morning salutation to 
Cliloris was occasionea hy sitting till the dawn at the punch-bowl, and walking past her 
wiudow on his way home.] 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? 

Rosy Morn now lifts bis eye. 
Numbering ilka bud which nature 

Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now through the leafy woods, 

And by the reeking floods. 
Wild nature's tenants freely, gladly stray; 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower; 

The lav' rock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy. 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 

Pboebus gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade. 
Nature gladdening and adorning ; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When absent frae my fair, 

The murky shades o' care 
47* 



558 THE r E T I C A E W R K S OF 

"With starless gloom o'orcast iiiy sulleu sky ; 
]>ut when, in beauty's light, 
She meets my ravish'd sight, 
^Vhen thro' my very heart 
ller beaming glories dart — 

'Tis then I wake to lite, to light, and joy. 



C II LOR IS. 

Air — •' Ml) lodijimj is on the cold ground." 

[Tho oriirin of this son;; is thus toUl by Burns to Tliomson. " On n\y visit tli<? othor 
day to u»y fair Chloiis, that is tlio poetic uame of tin- lovely goiUless of uiy inspiration, she 
sn:j;i;estej an idea which I, on my return from the visit, wrousrht into the foUowinii song." 
The poetic elevation of Chloris is great: she lived, when her charms faded, in want, and 
died all but destitute."] 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 

The ]n-imrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave thy fla.\en hair. 

The lav'roek shuns the palaee gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings ; 
For nature smiles as sweet, I weou, 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilt'u' string 

In lordly lighted ha' : 
The .shepherd stops his simple reed. 

l>lythe, in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustie daiiee wi' seorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours, 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flow'ry glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo : 
The courtier tells a finer tale — 

But is his heart as true? 



ROBERT BURNS. 559 

Tliesc wild-wood flowors I've pu'd, to deck 

Tluit spotless breast o' thine ; 
Tlu! courtier's gems may Avitness love — 

J)ut 'tis na love like mine. 



C II L E. 

Air — "JJdiiilie Davie.' 



' be found 



[Hums, desiinii-inp; (o fit soino of tlio .-lirs witli such vcrsi'S of ori;;inal mannfiicfure as 
Thoiuaou required, for tho Kuglish part of liis collection, took thu liberty of bcstowins a 
Soutlirou divas on sonic Konuino Caledonian lyrics. Tlie origin of (liis sonu nuiy 1 
in Jlamsuy's miscellany: the bombast is abated, and the whole much improvod.] 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the fiow'rs were fresh and gay, 
One morning, by the break of day, 

The youthful charming Chloe 
From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes. 
The youthful charming Chloe. 

Lovely was she by the dawn. 

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
Trip[)ing o'er the pearly lawn. 
The youthful charming Chloe. 

The feathcr'd people you might see, 
Perch'd all around, on every tree. 
In notes of sweetest melody 

They hail the charming Chloe ; 
Till painting gay the eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes • 
Of youthful, charming Chloe. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
^J'he youthful, charming Chloe. 



560 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

LASSIE Wr THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS. 

Tune — " Roiliemiirche's Rant." 

[" Conjugal loTe," says the poet, " is a passion wliich I deeply feel and highly venerate : 
but somehow it does not make such a figure in poesie as that other species of the passion, 
where love is liberty and nature law. Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of 
which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet, while the lust 
has powers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human soul." It must be owned 
that the bard could render very pretty reasons for his rapture about Jean Lorimer.l 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie. 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, ? 
Now nature deeds the flowery lea. 
And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
wilt thou share its joy wi' me. 
And say thou'lt be my dearie, ? 

And when the welcome simmer shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry moon, my dearie, 0. 

When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie, 0. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest ; 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, 0. 
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie. 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, ? 



ROBERT BURNS. 561 

FAREWELL, TIIOU STREAM. 

Air — " Nanct/'s to the greenwood (jane." 
[This song was written in Norember, 1794 : Thomson pronounced it excellent.] 

Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 

nicin'ry ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling : 

Coudemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover; 
The bursting sigh, th' unweetiug groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair. 

Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me ; . 
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer — ■ 
For pity's sake forgive me ! 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

'Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
The unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing; 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwholminii' ruin. 



.')02 T II c r !•, T I c A I- ^Y d r. k s o f 

rillT.LY, HArPY BE THAT DAY. 

Tune — ■'■ The Soir'g 'J\iil." 

[••This luoniiiii;" (VMh Novombor. 1704% "tlioush « koou Wowinst frost," Hums writes 
to Thomson, "in ni,v walk bifoi-o bivakt'ast 1 fiuisluHl my auol : whotlioi- 1 Ixavo uiiit'ormly 
siu-oeodod, I will uot say : but lioru it is for you. though it is uot nu hour oKl."J 

llK. 

O ruii.i.v. h;ipi\v Ih^ that day, 
Wlion roviiiii tl\rou<rli the gathor'd h;iy, 
My ytuitlifu' hoavt was sttnvn away, 
Ami by tliy I'liarms. luy IMiilly. 

SUK. 

O AVilly, ay T blo.><s tho grovo 
Whovo first I own'd my luaidou lovo, 
"Wliilst thou didst pUhI^o tho powers above, 
To be luy ain dear Willy. 

UK. 

As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear. 
So ilka day to uie luair dear 
And eharmiug is luy riiilly. 

S»K. 

As on the brier the budding rose 
Still rieher breathes and fairer blows, 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

UK. 

The milder sun and bluer sky 
That I'rown my harvest cares wi' joy. 
Were ne'er sae weleonu* to my eye 
As is a sight o' riiilly. 

SHE. 

The little swalUnv's wanton wing, 
Tho' wafting o'er the tlowery spring, 
Pid iu>'er to me sie tidings bring. 
As meetiiiir o' mv Willv. 



K i; K R T J5 U K N S. 5G3 

HE. 

The bee thiit tliro' the sunny hour 
Hips nectar in the o})onin<^ flower, 
Conipar'd wi' my i]eli}i,ht is poor, 
Upon the lips o' Pliilly. 



The woodbine in tlie dewy wcct 
When evcninjf shades in silence meet. 
Is nocht sac fragrant or sac sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 



]iet h'ortuno's wIuh;! at random rin, 
And fools may tync;, and knaves m;iy winj 
3Iy thoughts are a' )j(jund up in ane. 
And that's my ain dear Philly. , 

sine. 

What's a' joys that uowd can gie ? 
I care nae wenltli a singh; flic; ; 
The lad T lovci's the lad for me, 
And tliat's my own dear Willy. 



CONTENTED WF LITTLE. 

Tunc — " LniiipH ()' I'liildiiii/." 

fUiirnH wns an admirer of mnny fonjcs wliidi tin; moro critif^al and fastidious regarded 
lis rud<! and homely. "Todlin Hamu" lie oalled an unequiilliid conipoHition fur wit and 
liiiinoiir, and " Aiidro wi' liiH cutty (jun," the worl< of a maHter. In the 8amo letter, 
wliere ho records these sentiments, he writes bis own inimitahle Bong, " Contented wi' 

Liltle."J 

CoNTENTKl) wi' little, and cantic wi' inair. 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they're crcepin alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scotti.sh sang. 

I wliyles claw the elbow o' trou})lesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught : 



564 THE r E T T C A L W R K S OF 

My mirth and guid humour are coiu in my pouch, 

Aud my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 

A towmond o' troul)U\ shouUi that b;^ my fa', 
A uight o' guid fellowship sowthers it a' : 
"When at the blithe eud o' our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way ; 
Be't to me, bc't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain ; 
My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome again !" 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS. 

Tunc — " Jloi/'s ir//e." 

[When Burns trnnscribed the foUowing song for Thomson, on the 20th of Novembor, 
1794, ho aiideJ, '• WoU ! I think this, to ho done in two or three turns across my room, .ind 
with two or throe pinches of Irish hhiokgu.ird, is not so far amiss. You see I am resolved 
to have ray quantum of applause fi-om somebody." Tlie poet in this song complains of 
the coldness of Mrjs. Kiddel: the lady replied iu a strain eiiually tender and forgiving.] 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Well thou know'st my aching heart — 
Aud canst thou leave me thus for pity ? 
Is this thy plighted, fond regard. 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ! 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 
Thou may'st find those will love thee dear — 
But not a love like mine, my Katy ! 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy ? 
Well thou know'st ni}- aching heart — 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity 'r* 



ROBERT BURNS. 565 

MY NANNIE'S AWA. 

Tune — " There'll never be pence." 

[Clarindn, tradition avers, was the iiispircr of this soiij^, which tho poet couiposeil in 
December, 1794, for the work of Thomson. His lliouj^hts were often in KdinbiUKh: ou 
fiistivc oceasioiis, when, as (Campbell beautifully says, "Tho wiuo-cup shines in light," ho 
seldom forgot to toast Mrs. Mae.J 

Now in her <;rocn mantle blythc nature arrays, 
And li.stens the hunbkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
^V'hilc birds warble welcome in ilka, green sliaw; 
]Jut to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa ! 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the wcet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind mc o' Nannie — and Nanny's awa! 

Thou lav' rock that springs frae the dews of tho lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night la', 
Ciiive over for pity — my Nannie's awa ! 

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray. 
And soothe mc with tidings o' nature's decay; «|^ 
The dark dreary winter, and wild driving snaw, 
Alane can dclii2;ht mc — now Nannie's awa ! 



AVIIA IS SHE THAT LOVES ME. 

Tuno—" MurcKj." 

[" This song." says Sir Harris Nicolas, " is said, in Thomson's collection, to have been writ- 
ten for that work by ]$urns: but it is not included in Mr. Cunningham's edition." If Sir 
Harris would bo so good as to look at page 245, vol. V., of Cunningham's edition of Hums, 
he will find the song: and if he will look at page 28, and page VXi of vol. III. of his own 
edition, ho will find that he has not committed the error of which ho accuses his fellow- 
editor, for lio has inserted the same .song twice. The same may bo said of tho song to 
Chloris. which Sir Harris has printed at page 312, vol. II., and at page 18!), vol. Til., and 
of '• Ae day a braw woer came down tho lang glen," which appears both at page '-l-i of 
vol. II., and ut page 183 of vol. III.] 

WllA is she that lo'es me, 
And has my heart a-keopiiig? 
48 



i>l-)6 THE rOKTlOAL WORKS OF 

sweet is she that lo'es nic, 
As dows of siimncr wcopiiii;-, 
In tears tlie rose-buds stoepinp,' ! 

that's the lassie of mv heart, 

My lassie ever dearer; 
that's the queen of woniankiiuL 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thoir shalt meet a lassie 

In grace and beauty charm iug. 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae wanning- 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming. 

If thou hatlst hoard her talking, 
And tliy attentions plighted, 

That ilka body talking. 

]?ut her by thee is slighted, 
And thou art all delighted. 

If thou hast met this fair one; 

When frae her thou hast parted. 
If every other fair one, 
^^ But her, thou hast deserted, 

And thou art broken-hearted ; 

that's the lassie o' my heart, 

IMy lassie ever dearer; 
that's the queen o' womankind, 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune — " Caledonian Jfunt's Dcliyht." 



IThero is l.otU knowlodijo of history mul olosjaiico of allegory iu this singuliir lyric: it 
was liist I'viiitod by Ourrio.] 

Tiir.UK was once a day — but old time then was young — 
That brave Caledonia, the ehief of her line, 

From some of your northern deities s]>rung, 

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) 



R r, H R T 15 TJ II N S. 567 

From Twcfid to tlio Orcades was h'jr doinalii, 
To hunt, or to pasture, or do what slie would : 

Ilcr heav'nly relations there fixed her rcigii, 

And pl(;dg'd her tli(!ir godheads to warrant it j^ood. 

A landikin in peace;, but a linn in war, 

'J'he pride of her kindred tlie heroine ;ircw; 
Her liTandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore 

" Whoe'er shall pi-ovoke thee, th' eneounter shall rue I" 
With tillage or pasture at times she would sport. 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; 
But cliiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, 

Iler darling iimusement, the hounds and the horn. 

Long ({uiet she reign'dj till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand : 
Repeated, successive, for many long years, 

They darkened the air, and th(!y plunder'd the land : 
Their pounces were jnurder, and terror their cry, 

They'd con<|ucr'd and ruin'd a world beside; 
She took to her hills, and lier arrows let fly — 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

The fell harpy-raven took wing from the iKjrth, 

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore ; 
The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth 

To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore; 
O'er countries and kingd(jms their f'ui'y prevail'd, 

No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd. 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell 

The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose. 

With tumult, dis(|uiet, rebellion, and strife; 
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose. 

And robb'd him at once of his hope and his life : 
The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood : 
But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance. 

He learned to fear in his own native wood. 



r)68 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

Thus bold, iudepoudent, unconquer'd, and free, 

ller briglit cDurso of glory for over shall ruu : 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : 
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose. 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base ; 
!But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; 

Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them always 



LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 

Tune — " Cordwctiner'a March." 

[The nir to which these verses were written, is commonly played at the Saturnalia of 
the shoemakers ou King Crispin's day. Burns sent it to the Museum.] 

LAY thy loof in mine, lass, 

In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 

And swear on thy white hand, lass, 

That thou wilt be my ain. 
A slave to love's unbounded sway, 
lie aft has wrought me meilde wae; 
But now he is my deadly fae, 

Unless thou be my ain. 

There's monie a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink I hae lo'ed best ; 
But thou art iiueeu within my breast. 

For ever to remain. 
lay thy loof in mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass; 
And swear on thy white hand, lass, 

That thou wilt be my ain. 



ROBERT BURNS. 569 

THE fp:te ciiampetre. 

Tune — " Killiecrankie." 

[Writtun to introduce the name of Cunnin^hanie, of Enterkin, to the public. Tents 
were erected on the banks of Ayr, decorated with shrubs, and strewn with flowers, most 
of the names of note in tlie district were invited, and a splendid entertainment took place ; 
but no dissolution of parliament followed as was expected, and the Lord of Enterkin, 
who was desirous of a seat among the "Commons," poured out his wine in vain.] 

wiiA will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our crrauds there, muu ? 
wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

0' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major? 

Come, will ye court a noble lord. 

Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
For worth and honour pawn their word, 

Their vote shall be Glcncaird's, man '{ 
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 

Anither gies them clatter; 
Anbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste, 

He gies a Fete Champetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news. 

The gay green-woods amang, man ; 
Where gathering flowers and busking bower.s. 

They heard the blackbird's sang, man ; 
A vow, they scal'd it Avith a kiss. 

Sir Politicks to fetter. 
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss. 

To hold a Fete Champetre. 

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing, 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man; 
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man : 

48* 



5T0 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

She summon' d every social sprite 
That sports by wood or water, 

On th' bonuy banks of Ayr to meet, 
And keep this Fete Champetre. 

Cauld Boreas, ayI' his boisterous crew, 

Were bound to stakes Hke kye, man; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clanib up the starry sky, man : 
Ivefleeted beams dwell in the streams. 

Or down the current shatter; 
The western breeze steals thro' the trees, 

To view this Fete Champetre. 

How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkliiiii' jewels glance, man ! 
To Harmony's enchanting notes, 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood, 

Like Paradise did glitter, 
When angels met, at Adam's yett. 

To hold their Fete Champetre. 

When Folitics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane, man ! 
He circled round the magic ground, 

But entrance found he nane, man : 
He blush'd for shame, he quat his name, 

Forswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive Fete Champetre. 



ROBERT BURNS. 571 

IIEUE'S A HEALTH. 

Tunc — " JJcic'n a hcullh to them thut'H atca." 

[The Cliiirlie of tliis song was Chiu-les Fox ; Tammio was Lord Krskine ; and M'Leod, the 
niaidi'ii name of tlio Cuunttss of Loudon, was tlien, as now, a name of influonco both in 
the Ilii^hlauds and Lowlands. The bulT and blue of the Whi-s had triumplied over the 
white rose of Jacobitism in the heart of liurns, when lie wrote these verses.] 

Here's a liealth to thein that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

And wha winiia wish guid luck to our cause, 

May uever guid luck be their fa' ! 

It's guid to be merry and wise, 

It's guid to be honest and true, 

It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 

And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to Charlie the chief of the clan, 

Altho' that his band be sma'. 

May liberty meet wi' success ! 

May prudence protect her frac evil ! 

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa ; 

Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie. 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 

Here's freedom to him that wad read. 

Here's freedom to him that wad write ! 

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard. 

But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here's a health to them that's awa, 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, 

Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa. 

Here's a health to them that's awa; 

And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 



'*> ' - T H E P E T I C A L W R K S F 

IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. 

Tune — "For a' that, and a' that." 

[In this noble lyric Burns lias vindicated the natural right of his species, lie modestly 
says to Thomson, "I do not give you this song for your book, but merely by way of ri're 
la bagatelle ; for the piece is really not poetry, but will be allowetl to be two or three 
pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme." Thomson took the song, but hazarded 
no praise.] 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That haugs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward-shxve, we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that ! 

What tho' on hamcly fare we dine, 

Wear hoddiu gray, and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man, for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king o' men for a' that ! 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd — a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that : 
Though hundreds worship at his word 

He's but a coof for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind, 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A king can make a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that. 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith, he mauuua fa' that I 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities, and a' that, 



ROBERT BURNS. 573 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may — 

As come it will for a' that — 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 

JMay bear the gree, and a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's comin' yet for a' that, 
That man to man, the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that ! 



CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 



[Craigie-liurn Wood was written for George Thomson : the heroine was Jean Lorimer. 
How often the blooming looks and elegant forms of very indifferent characters lend a 
lasting lustre to painting and poetry !] 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 

And blithe awakes the morrow; 
But a' the pride o' spring's return 

Can yield me uoolit but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 

I hear the wild birds singing ; 
But what a weary wight can please, 

And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it lunger. 

If thou refuse to pity me. 

If thou shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



574 THE P E T I C iV L WORKS OF 

LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET. 

Tune — "Let me in this ae night." 

[The thoughts of Burns, it is said, wandered to the fair Sirs. Eiddel, of Woodleijch 
Park, while he compo.^ed this song for Thomson. The idea is taken from an old lyric. 
of more spirit than decorum.] 

LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet, 
s Or art thou waking, I would wit ? 

For love has bound me hand and foot, 
And I would ftiin be in, jo. 
let me in this ae night. 

This ae, ae, ae night. 
For pity's sake this ae night ; 
rise and let me in, jo ! 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet ! 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet : 
Tak pity on my weary feet. 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws. 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's; 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night ; 
For pity's sake this ae night, 
rise and let me in, jo ! 



TELL NA ME 0' WIND AND RAIN. 

[The poet's thovights. as rendered in the lady's answer, are, at all events, not borrowed 
from the sentiments expressed by Mrs. Riddel, alluded to in song " Canst thou leave me 
thus," on page 564; tliere she is tender and forgiving: here she is stern and cold.] 

O TELL na me o' wind and rain 
Upbraid na me wi' caidd disdain I 
Gae back the gate yo cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 

I tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
And ance for a' this ae night, 
I winna let you in, jo! 



ROBERT BURNS. 575 

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That rouud the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she eudures, 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead. 
Now trodden like the vilest weed : 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 

The bird that charm'd his summer-day. 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night; 
And ance for a' this ae night, 
I wiuna let you in, jo ! 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Tune — "Push about the jorum." 

[This national song was composed in April, 1795. The poet had been at a public meet- 
ing, wliere he was less joyous than usual : as something had been expected from him, he 
made these verses, when he went home, and sent them, with his compliments, to Mr. 
.Tackson, editor of the Dumfries .Tournal. The original, through the kindness of my 
friend, James MiUigan, Esq., is now before me.] 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat, 

Then let the loons beware, Sir, 
There's wooden walls upon our seas. 

And volunteers on shore, Sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon, 

And Criffel sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

let us not, like snarling tykes, 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loon 

An wi' a runtr decide it. 



576 THE r E T I C A L WORKS OF 

Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amaug oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British Avraugs be righted ! 

The kettle o' the kirk and state, 

Perhaps a clout maj^ fail in't; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' a nail iu't. 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 
By heaven ! the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

The wretch that wad a tjrant own, 

And the wretch his true-born brother, 
Who would set the mob aboou the throne. 

May they be damn'd together ! 
"Who will not sing, "God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple; 
But while we sing, "God save the King," 

We'll ne'er forget the people. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. 

Tuue — " Wherc'll honnie Ann lie." 

[The old song to the same air is yet remembered: but the humour is richer than the 
delicacy ; the same may be said of many of the fine hearty lyrics of the elder days of Cale- 
donia. These verses were composed in May, 1795. for Thomson.] 

STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay ! 
Nor quit for me the trembling spra}^; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay. 
Thy soothing fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part. 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that would touch her heart, 
AVha kills me wi' disdaininir. 



ROBERT BURNS. 577 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, 
Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care ; 
0' speechless grief and dark despair : 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae luair ! 
Or my poor lieart is broken ! 



ON CIILORIS BEING ILL. 

Tuno — " Aij lonhin' 0." 

[An old and onco popular lyric suggested this brief ;uid Lappy song for Thomson : some 
of the versos deserve to be held in remembrance. 
Ay wukiug, oh, 

Waking ay and weary 
Sleep I canna get 
For thinking o' my dearie.] 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow. 
While my soul's delight 

Is on her bed of sorrow. 
Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish ? 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish ? 

Every hope is fled, 

Every fear is terror ; 
Slumber even 1 dread, 

]liVcry dream is horror. 

Hear me, Pow'rs divine ! 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 
But my Chloris spare me ! 
Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 
While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 



578 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

CALEDONIA. 

Tune — "Humours of Glen." 

[Love of country often mingles in the lyric strains of Burns witti his personal attach- 
ments, and in few more beautifully than in the following, written for Thomson : the 
heroine was Mrs. Burns.] 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 

Where briglit-beaming sumiiiei*s exalt the perfume ; 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green brockan, 

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom : 
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 

"Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; 
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 

A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, 

What are they ? — The haunt of the tyrant and slave ! 
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain 5 
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 

Save love's willing fetters, the chains 0' his Jean. 



'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EEN. 

Tune — "Laddie, lie near me." 

[Though the lady who inspired these verses is called Mary by the poet, such, says tradi- 
tion, was not her name : yet tradition, even in this, wavers, when it avers one while that 
Mrs. Kiddel, and at another time that Jean Lorimer was the heroine.] 

'TwAS na her bonnie blue een was my ruin ; 
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet stown glance 0' kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ! 
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever. 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 



ROBERT BURNS. 

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sineerest, 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest ! 
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter — 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



579 



HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. 

Tune — "John Anderson, my jo." 

{" I am at this moment," says Burns to Thomson, whan he sent him this song, " hold- 
ing high converse with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on a prosaic dog, 
such as you are." Yet there is less than the poet's usual inspiration in tliis lyric, for 
it is altered from an English one.] 

How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize, 
And, to the wealthy boohy, 

Poor woman sacrifice ! 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate, 

Become a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing. 

The trembling dove thus flies. 
To shun impelling ruin 

Awhile her pinions tries ; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat. 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet ! 



580 THE rOETICAL WORKS OF 

MARK YONDER POMP. 

Tune — " Dcil tak the icars." 

[lUiriis tells Thomsou. in the letter •enelosins this song, that he is in a high tit of 
poetizing, provided he is not cured hy the struit-waistoosit of criticism. "You see," said 
he, '"how I answer your orders: your tailor could not he more punctual." This strain in 
honour of Chloris is orii^iual in conception, but wants the line lyrical tiow of some of his 
other compositions.] 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fastion 

Kouml the wealtliy, titled bride : 
But when compar'd with real passion, 
Poor is all that princely pride. 

"What are the showy treasures ? 

"What are the noisy pleasures? 
The ga}' gaudy glare of vanity and art : 

The polish'd jewel's blaze 

May draw the wond'ring gaze, 

And courtly grandeur bright 

The fancy may delight, 
But nevei*, never can come near the heart. 

But, did you see 1113- dearest Chloris 

In simplicity's array j 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is. 
Shrinking from the gaze of dixy; 

then the heart alarming, 

And all resistless charming, 
In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul ! 

Ambition would disown 

The world's imperial crown, 

Even Avarice would deny 

His worshipp'd deity, 
And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. 



ROBERT BURNS. 581 

THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 

Tunc — " Tliia in no my ain house." 

[Though composed to the order of Thoni.son, and therefore less Hkely to he the offspring 
of unsolicited inspiration, tliis is one of the happiest of modern .songs. When the poet 
wrote it, he seems to have been beside the "fair dame at whose shrine," he said, '-I, tlie 
priest of the Nine, offer up tlie incense of l>arna.ssus."J 

THIS is no iny aIn lassie, 

Fair tlio' the las.sie be ; 
weel ken I my ain las.sie, 
Kind love is in her e'e. 
I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And ay it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the e'e. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
this is no my ain lassie, 
Fair tho' the lassie be ; 
weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e'e. 



49 ■» 



r)82 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 



NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GllOYE IN GREEN. 

TO Jin. CUNNINGHAM. 

rOomposiHl in roforoiuv to a lovo disaiipoiiitiiu'iit of tlio poet's frieud, Alexander Cun- 
iiinslniui, which also oreasioued the song beginning, 

" Had I a cavo on some wild distant shore."] 

Now spring has cliul the grove in green, 

And strew'cl the lea wi' flowers : 
The furrow'd waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers; 
AVliile ilka tiling in natnre join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ? 

The trout within yon winipling burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart. 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
]My life was auce that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I j 
But love, wi' uurclentiug beam, 

Has scorch' d my fountains dry. 

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder elitf that grows, 
Whieh, save the linnet's fliglit, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit km)ws, 
Was mine; till love has o'er mo past, 

And blighted a' my bloom, 
And now beneath the with'ring blast 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'roek warbling springs 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blytho her dcAA'y wings 

lu morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flow'ry snare 
0' witching love, in luckless hour. 

Made me the thrall o' care. 



ROBERT BURNS. 583 

had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burniug zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whose doom is, " Hope nae mair," 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIEll. 

[To Jean Lorimer, the heroine of this song. Burns presented a copy of the last edition 
of his i)oems, that of 1793, with a dodieutory inscription, in which ho moralizes upon her 
youth, her beauty, and steadfast friendship, and si^'ns himself Coila.] 

BONNIE was yon rosy brier. 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man, 

And bonuie she, and ah, how dear ! 
It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew 

How pure, amang the leaves sae green : 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower. 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair ! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

■ The pathless wild, and winipliug burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 
And I the world nor wish, nor scorn. 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



584 THE rOETICAL WOKKS OF 



FORLOrxN, MY LOVE, XO COMFORT XEAR. 

Tuuo — "Let me in this ae niyJil." 

[••Iloir do you like the foregoing?"' Burns asks Thomson, after having copied this song 
for his oollivtiou. " I have written it within this hour: so much for tlie speed of my 
IVgasus: but what say you to his bottom?"] 

Forlorn, mj love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here; 
Far, far from thoo, tlio fate sovoro 
At which I most repine, k>ve. 
wort thou, love, but near me; 
]jut near, near, near me; 
How kiiully thou wouhlst cheer me. 
And minirle sighs with mine, love. 

Around me scowls a wintrv skv, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save iu those arms of thine, love. 

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, 
To poison Foitune's ruthless dart, 
Let me not break thy faithful he.irt. 
And say that fate is mine, love. 

But dreary tho' the moments fleet. 
let me think we yet sh;dl meet I 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can ou thy Chloris shine, love. 
O wert thou, love, but near me ; 
But near, near, near me; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me. 
And mina;le si^hs with mine, love. 



I 



11 15 F, 11 T D U U N S. 585 

LAST MAY A BR AW WO OKU. 

Tuno — " Tlir Ldthittn Liinnlc." 

f" Garcsliick."' says Burns to Thomson, '• is tho nimioof h particular piano, a kiiul of pas- 
sajio nnioui;' Iho Lowthcir Hills, on tlii> confines of DunilViosshiro : Dalsiurnock, is also tho 
iianioof a romantic spot luvir tlio N'itli, wlicroari' still a ruinoilrlunrli and burial-itrouml." 
'I'd this, it may ho atliU'il that Daliiarnock kirk-.vani is tliii scuno wUi'ro tho author of 
M'avorloy finds Old iMortalily ropairin;; tho Camcronian grave-stones.] 

Last May a braw wooer cam down tho laiij;' gloii, 
And sail' wi' his lovo li(> did tU'avo uio ; 

I said tlu'i'o was iiaetliing 1 haled like men, 
Tlie deiK'o gae wi'm, to believe, believe mc, 
The deuee gae wi'm, to believe me! 

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black eon, 

And vow'd for my love he M'as dying; 
I .said he might die when he liked fur Jean, 

The Lord tbrgie mo for lying, for lying, 

The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A wccl-stocketl mailen — himsol' for the laird — 
And marriage aff-hand, were his prt^jffers : 

T never kwt on that I kenn'd it, or ear'd, 

Bnt thonght I might hae waur oilers, waur offers. 
But thought I might hac waur oflers. 

But what wad yo thhik ? In a fortnight or less — 
The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 

He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear her, 
Guess yc how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 

I gncd to the tryste o' Dalgarnoidv, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

]>iit ttwre my left shouther I gae him a blink. 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy; 



586 THE POETIC A L W R K S OF 

My wooer he eaper'd as he'd been in driuk. 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear hissie, 
Aud vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my coiisiu fu' oouthy aud sweet, 
Giu she had recovered her heariu'. 

And how my anld shoon snited her shanchled feot. 
But, heavens I how ho toll a swearin', a sweariu'j 
But. heavens ! how he toll a swearin'. 

He begged, for Gudosake. I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 

So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life. 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



C II LOR IS. 

Tune — '• Caledonian fliint's Jlclit/ht." 



["I am .Ht v^rosont," says Rums to Thomson, when be comuiuuioatod those versos. 
" quite ixvupiod with tlie oliarmini: sons;«tions of tlie toothache, so b.ive not a woi\t to 
sp-^i-e — suoh is tl>e pivuliarity of the rhytlim of tliis air, th.-jt 1 fnul it imjKissiWe to make 
another stausa to suit it." This is the h»st of his strjuus iu houour of Cliloris.] 

■\ViiY. wliy tell thy lover. 

Bliss he never nmst enjoy : 
Why, why undeeeive him, 

Aud give tdl his hopes the lie ? 

why. while fauey raptured, slumbers. 

Chloris. Chloris all the thome. 
Why, why wouldst thou, cruel. 

Wake thy lover from his dream ? 



11 15 E 11 T r. URNS. 587 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. 

[This soni: is siiiil to Iw I'.urns's vprsiou of n Gnelic laiimnt for tho ruin wliich followed 
tlin rolKliioii of tho year l"4fi : lui sent it to tlio M\isiniui.| 

Oil ! I ;uu coiuo to the litw i-ouiitrie, 

Ocli-on, och-ou, och-ric! ! 
Without a penny in my purse, 

To ])uy ;i meal to nie. 

It was ii!i sao in the Ilinlilaiid hills, 

Oc'h-oii, ofh-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

8ae liappy was as mo. 

For tlien I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-ric ! 
Fccdin<^' on yon hills so high, 

And giving milk to me. 

And there I had three score o' yowes, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonnic knowes, 

And casting woo' to me. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 

Sair, sair, may I repine; 
For Donald was the brawest lad. 

And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stewart cam' at last. 

Sac far to set us free; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then, 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their wacfu' fate what need I tell, 

Right to the wrang did yield : 
My Donald and his country fell 

Upon Culloden's field. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nac woman in the world wide 

Sao wretched now as me. 



588 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. 

PARODY ON ROBIN ADAIR. 
[Burns wrote this "Welcome" on the unexpected defection of General Dumourier. 

You're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 
You're welcome to despots, Dumourier; 

How does Dampiere do ? 

Ay, and Bournoaville, too ? 
Why did tliey not come along with you, Dumourier ? 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier; 
I will fight France with you, Dumourier; 

I will fight France with you, 

I will take my chance with you; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; ^ 

Then let us fight about. 

Till freedom's spark is out. 
Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier. 



PEG-A-RAMSEY. 

Tune — " Cauld is the e'cnin' Mast." 
[Most of this song is old : Burns gave it a brushing for the Museum.' 

Cauld is the e'enin' blast 

0' Boreas o'er the pool. 
And dawin' it is dreary 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

bitter blaws the e'enin' blast 

When bitter bites the frost. 
And in the mirk and dreary drift 

The hills and glens are lost. 



ROBERT BURNS. 589 

Ne'ei' sae murky blew the uight 

That drifted o'er the hill, 
But a bonnie Peg-a-Rarasey 

Gat grist to her mill. 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

[A snatch of an old strain, trimmed up a little for tlie Muieum.' 

There was a bounie lass, 

And a bonnie, bonnie lass, 
And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear; 

Till war's loud alarms 

Tore her laddie frae her arms, 
Wi' mony a sigh and tear. 

Over sea, over shore, 

Where the cannons loudly roar. 
He still was a stranger to fear; 

And nocht could him quell, 

Or his bosom assail. 
But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. 

[Burns, it is said, composed these verses, on meeting a country girl, with her shoes 
and stockings in her lap, walking homewards from a Dumfries fair. He was struck 
with her beauty, and as beautifully has he recorded it. This was his last communication 
to the JIuseum.] 

IVIally's meek, Mally's sweet, 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 

Mally's every way complete. 
As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet; • 
But the road was very hard 

For that fair maiden's tender feet. 

It were mair meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoou, 
50 



590 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

And 'twere more fit that she should sit, 
Withiu you chariot gilt aboou. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, 

Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck; 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 
Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. 
Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 



IIEY FOR A LASS WF A TOCHER. 

Tune — " Bulinamona Ora." 

[CommunicateJ to Thomson, ITth of February, 1796, to be printed as part of the poet's 
contribution to the Irish Melodies: be culls it "a kind of rhapsody."] 

AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms : 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
0, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a floM'cr, in the morning that blows. 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green kuowes. 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonuie white yowes. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
I'he brightest o' beauty may cloy when possest ; 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer 3-0 hae them — the mair they're carest. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 



ROBERT BURNS. 591 

JESSY. 

Tune— "/fere's o health to them that's awa." 

[Written in honour of Jliss Jessie Lewars, now Mrs. Thomson. Ilor tender and daugh- 
ter-like attentions sootlied the last hours of the dying poet, and ifimmortality can be con- 
sidered u recompense, she has been rewarded.] 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; 
Thou art sweet as the smile whea foud lovers meet, 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Tlian aught in the world beside — Jessy! 

I mourn through the gay, gaudy day. 

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms : 
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, 

For then I am lockt in thy arms — Jessy ! 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by thy love rolling e'e ; 
But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree ? — Jessy ! 
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ; 
Thou art sweet as the smile when foud lovers meet. 
And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ! 



FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS. 

Tune — " liothcmurche." 

[On the 12th of .Tuly, 179G, ns Burns lay dying at lirow, on the Solway, his thoughts 
wandered to early days, and this song, the last he was to measure in this world, was dedi- 
cated to Charlotte Hamilton, the maid of the Devon.] 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 



592 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 

Wilt thou lay that froAvn aside, 

And smile as thou were wont to do ? 

Full well thou know'st I love thee, dear ! 

Could' st thou to malice lend an ear ! 

! did not love exclaim " Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so." 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, let me share ; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear, 

No love but thine my heart shall know. 
Fairest maid on Devon banks, 

Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 
Wilt thou lay that frown aside. 

And smile as thou were wont to do ? 



GLOSSARY. 



'•The ch ami (/li have always tlio guttural sound. Tlio soviml of tlio ICnslisIi diplUhon,'; 
00 is cdmnuinly spclUid ini. The Freiioli ii. a scniiid which often opours in thu .Scottish 
lauguas". is markod (ot or iii. The a, in gonuino Scottish words, except wlicn fonninj; a 
diphthonp;, or followed by an <; mute after a single consonant, sounds generally like the 
hroad Eny;lish n in wall. The Scottisli diplidinni; tii' always, and en very oflen. .sound liky 
thu French c masculine. The Scottisli dijihthonj;- ci/ .sounds like tile Latin <:('." 



A. 

A\ all. 

Aback, away, aloof, back- 
wards. 

Ahet;/li, at a shy distance. 

Abnnn, above, up. 

Abrrad, abroad, in si.^^ht, to 
publish. 

Abrccd, in breadth. 

Ae. one. 

A_ir. off. 

AjI'innf, offh.'ind. extempore, 
without premeditation. 

A fore, before. 

A/l. oft. 

Al'kn, oft(Mi. 

Ai/hy, olT tliH right line, 
wrong, awry. 

Aiblins. perhaps. 

Ain, own. 

Aim, iron, a tool of that me- 
tal, a nia.son's chi.sel. 

Airtns, earnest money. 

Airljxmvj, a silver penny 
given as erles or hiring 
money. 

Airt, quarter of the heaven, 
point of the compass. 

Apie, on one side. 

Atl/mr, moreover, beyond, be- 
sides. 

AiUi, an oath. 

Aits, oats. 

Aiver, an old horse. 

Aizte., a hot cinder, an ember 
of wood. 

Alake, alas. 

Atani; alone. 

Akwarl, awkward, athwart. 

Amaist, almost. 

Amang, among. 

An\ and, if. 

Ance, onco. 

Ane,, one. 

Anenl, ovcragaiust, concern- 
ing, about. 
60* 



Aiiillii'r. another. 

J.te. aslies, of wood, renin 
of a liearlh lire. 

,l.-;/(v/-. abroad, stirring in a 
lively manner. 

Ailiicesh. between. 

.iiii/lil. iiossessioii, .'IS "in a' 
my aiejilit,"' in all my pos- 
session. 

Alibi, (lid. 

Aiihl-J'iirran', auld farrant, sa- 
gacious, prudent, cunning. 

.■Ic((, at .all. 

Atva, away, begone. 

AioJ'ii.'. awful. 

Aiilil shiion. old shoes literally, 
a discarded lover metapho- 
rically. 

AiiDiDs. trift to a beggar. 

Aiimnx-ilis/i, a beggar's dish 
in wliich the auuios is r 
ceived. 

Awn, the beard of barley, 
oats, Ac. 

Awnie, bearded. 

Ayont, beyond. 

B. 

na\ ball. 

Babie.clmds, child's first 
clothes. 

linckcls, ash-boards, as pieces 
of backet for removing 
ashes. 

Backlins, comin', coming 
back, returning. 

Hirek-yelt, private gate. 

Bailie, endured, did stay. 

liiinjie. th(! l)elly. 

Ikiirti, a chilli. 

Ilaini-llme. a fiimily of chil- 
dren, .a brood. 

BaiUi, both. 

linlleh. bal/anl.t, ballads. 

Jlitii, to swear. 

Bane, bone. 



Bidif}, to beat, to strive, to 
e.xcel. 

lliiiiiinck, fiat, round.soft cake. 

ISiirilie. diminutive of bard. 

/liiivjit. barefboted. 

Biirleij-brer, barley-broo, blood 
of barley, nialt-lliiuor. 

Barmie, of, or like barm, 
yeasty. 

TSiili-li, a crew, a gang. 

Bails, botts. 

Baiickie.-biril, the bat. 

Baudrons. a cat. 

Bitiil'l, bold. 

Baw.i'nl, having a white stripe 
down the face. 

Be, to let be, to give over, to 
cease. 

Ilee/x. boots. 

Hiiii: biirlev 

Jlnirilidhraj; barley with it.s 
bristly bead. 

Jlea.<lie, dimiiiulive of beast. 

Beit, bi'ek. to add fuel to a lire, 
to bask. 

IMd, bald. 

Uehiee. by and by, presently, 
((uickly. 

ISeii. into tlie spenco or par- 
lour. 

BeiiiiiiKl-liore, the remotest 
hole, tlu^ innermost recess 

Billiankil, grace after meat. 

/.',/(/,■, a book. 

Bieker, a kind of wooden dish, 
a short rapid race. 

Biekeriiif/, c.'ireering, hurry- 
ing with (|Uarrclsomc> intent. 

Jliniie. birnie ground is where 
thick heath has been burnt, 
leaving the birns, or un- 
consumed stalk,s, standing 
up .sharp and stubbly. 

Bie, or biidd, shelter, a shel- 
tered place, the sunny nook 
of a wood. 

(593) 



594 



GLOSSARY. 



Bii^n, wealthy, plentiful. ] 

Bi'i, to build. 

Bi/yiii. building, a house. 

Bunt.hailt 

Bin, a bull. 

BiUie, a brother, a young fel- 
low, a companion. 

Bing. a heap of grain, pota- 
toes, &c. 

Birdie<o<:ks. youngcocks. stiU 
belonijlng to the brood. 

Birk, birch. 

Birkie, a clever, a forward, 
conceited fellow. 

Birring, the noise of part- 
ridges when they rise. 

Birses. bristles. 

Bit. crisis, nick of time, place. 

Biz;, a bustle, to buzz. 

Black's the grun\ as black as 
the ground. 

Blaslie. a shrivelled dwarf, a 
term of contempt, full of 
mischief. 

Blastit. blasted. 

Blaie. bashful, sheepish. 

Blather, bladder. 

Blaud, a flat piece of any- 
thing, to slap. 

Blaudinshnwer. a heavy driv- 
ing rain ; a blauding signi- 
fies a beating. 

Blaiv, to blow, to boast; 
" blaw i' my lug," to flatter. 

Blee.rit. bedinimed, eyes hurt 
with weeping. 

Bleer mij een. dim my eyes. 

Bleeding, hieczit. blazing.flame. 

Blelltim, idle talking fellow. 

Blether, to talk idly. 

Bleth'rin. talking idly. 

Blink, a little while, a smiling 
look, to look kindly, to 
shine by fits. 

Blinker, a term of contempt : 
it means, too, a lively en- 
gaging girl. 

Blinkin', smirking, smiling 
with the eyes, looking 
lovingly. 

Blirt and blearie, out-burst 
of grief, with wet eye.s. 

Blue-gown, one of those beg- 
gars who pet annually, on 
the king's birth-day, a blue 
cloak or sown with a badge. 

Bhiirl, blood. 

Blype. a shred, a large piece. 

Bobbit, the obeisance made 
by a lady. 

Bock, to vomit, to gush inter- 
mittently. 

Backed, gushed, vomited. 

Bodle, a copper coin of the 
value of two pennies Scots. 

Bogie, a small morass. 

Bonnie, or bonny, handsome, 
beautiful. 

Bonnock, a. kind of thick cake 
of bread, a small jannock 
or loaf made of oatmeal. 
See Bannock. 

Boord, a board. 

Bore, a hole in a wall, a 
cranny. 

Boortree, the shrub elder, 
planted much of old in 
hedges of barnyards and 
gardens. 



B'lost. behoved, must needs, 
wilfulness. 

B"ti.ii. clotch, an angry tu- 
mour. 

Bousing, drinking, making 
merry with liquor. 

Bowk, liody. 

Bow-kail, cabbage. 

Bow-houyht, out-kneed, 
crooked at the knee joint. 

Bowt, bowlt, bended, crooked. 

Brackens, fern. 

Brae, a declivity, a precipice, 
the slope of a hill. 

Braid, broad. 

Braik, an instrument forj 
rough-dressing flax. 

Brainge., to run rashly for- 
ward, to churn violently. 

Braing't, • the horse braing't.' 
plunged and fretted in the 
harness. I 

Brak, broke, became insol- 
vent. 

Branks, a kind of wooden I 
curb for horses. 

Brankie, gaudy. : 

Brash, a sudden illness. 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags, &c. 

Brattle, a short race, hurry, 
fury. 

Braw. fine, handsome. 

Braxdys. or brawl ie, very 
well, finely, heartily, brave- 
ly- 

Braxies, diseased sheep. 

Breastie, diminutive of breast. 

Breastit, did spring up or for- 
ward ; the act of mounting 
a horse. 

Brechame, a horse-coUar. 

Breckcns, fern. 

Breef, an invulnerable or 
irresistible spell. 

Breeks, breeches. 

Brent, bright, clear : " a brent 
brow," a brow high and 
smooth. 

Bretvin'. brewing, gathering. 

Bree. jmce, liquid. 

Brig, a bridge. 

Brunstane, brimstone. 

Brisket, the breast, the 
bosom. 

Brither, a brother. 

Brock, a badger. 

Brogue, a luim. a trick. 

Broo, broth, liquid, water. 

Broose, broth, a race at 
country weddings ; he who 
first reaches the bride- 
groom's house on returning 
from church wins the 
broose. 

Browsf, ale, as much malt 
liquor as is brewed at a 
time. 

Brugh, a burgh. 

Bniilsie. a broil, combustion. 

Brunt, did burn, burnt. 

Brust, to bui-at, burst. 

Buchan-buflers, the boiling 
of the sea among the rocks 
on the coast of Buchan. 

Buckskin, an inhabitant of 
Virginia. 

Buff our beef, thrash us 
soundly, give ns a beating 
beliind and before. 



BufF and blue, the colours of 
the Uhigs. 

Buirdly, stout m.-ido. broad 
built. 

Bum-clock, the humming 
beetle that flies in the 
summer evenings. 

Bamniin. humming as bees, 
buzzing. 

Bummle. to blunder, a drone, 
an idle fellow. 

Bummler. a blunderer, one 
whose noise is greater than 
his work. 

Bunker, a window-seat. 

Bure, did bear. 

Burn, burnie, water, a rivu- 
let, a .small stream which 
is heard as it runs. 

Burniewin', burn the wind, 
the blacksmith. 

Burr-thiitle, the thistle of 
Scotland. 

Buskit, dressed. 

BuskitneM, an ornamented 
residence. 

Busle, a bustle. 

But, bcit. without. 

But and ben, the country 
kitchen and parlour. 

By himself, lunatic, distract- 
ed, beside himself. 

Byke, a bee-hive, a wild bee- 
nest. 

Byre, a cow-house, a sheep- 
pen. 

C. 

Ox', to call, to name, to drive. 

Cu't, called, driven, calved. 

Cadger, a carrier. 

Cadie, or caddie, a person, a 
young fellow, a public mes- 
senger. 

Caff, chaff. 

Caird, a tinker, a maker of 
horn spoons and teller of 
fortunes. 

Cairn, a loose heap of stones, 
a rustic monument. 

Gdf-ward, a small enclosure 
for calves. 

Calimanco. a certain kind of 
cotton cloth worn by ladies 

Callan, a boy. 

Ciiller, fresh. 

Callet, a loose woman, a fol 
lower of a camp. 

Clin Hie, gentle, mild, dexter- 
ous. 

(\tnnilie, dexterously, gently, 

Cantie, or canty, cheerful, 
merry. 

Canlraip, a charm, a spell. 

Cap-stane, cape-stone.topmost 
stone of the building. 

Oir. a rustic cart with or 
without wheel.s. 

Careerin\ moving cheerfully, 

Castock, the stalk of a cab- 
bage. 

Carl, an old man. 

Carl-hf.mp. the male stalk of 
hemp, easily known by its 
superior strength and sta- 
ture, and being without 
seed, 

Carlin, a stout old woman. 

Cartes, cards. 



GLOSSARY. 



595 



Cixudron, a cauldron. 

Cauk and keel, chalk and red 

clay. 
Cautd, cold. 

Caup, a wooden drinking ves- 
sel, a cup. 
Cavie. a hen-coop. 
Chanter, drone of a bagpipe. 
Chap, a person, a fellow. 
Chaup, a stroke, a blow. 
Cheek for chow, close and 
united, brotherly, side by 
side. 
Cheekit, cheeked. 
Che/:p, a chirp, to chirp. 
Ofiiel, or cheal, a young fel- 
low. 
Chimla, or chimUe, a fire- 
grate, fire-place. 
Chimla-lug, the fire-side. 
Chirps, cries of a young bird. 
Chittering, shivering, trem- 
bling. 
Chockin, choking. 
Chow, to chew ; a quid of 

tobacco. 
Chuckie, a brood-hen. 
Chnffie, fat-faced. 
C/((c/ia», a small village about 

a church, a hamlet. 
Claise, or claes, clothes. 
Claith, cloth. 
Claithimi- clothing. 
Ckivers and havers, agreeable 
nonsense, to talk foolishly. 
Clapper chips, the clapper of 

a mill ; it is now silenced. 
Clap-clack, clapper of a mill. 
Clartie, dirty, filthy. 
Clarkit, wrote. 
Clash, an idle tale. 
Clatter, to tell little idle 

stories, an idle story. 
Clawjht, snatched at, laid 

hold of. 
Child, to clean, to scrape. 
Chiuted, scraped. 
Claw, to scratch. 
Cleed, to clothe. 
Cleek, hook, snatch. 
Cleekin, a brood of chickens, 

or ducks. 
Clegs, the gad flies. 
Clinkin', " clinking down," 

.sitting down hastily. 
Cliukum-bell, the church bell ; 
he who rings it; a sort of 
beadle. 
Clips, wool-shears. 
Clishmaclaver, idle conversa- 
tion. 
Olnck, to hat<'h, a beetle. 
Clockin, hatching. 
Clont. the hoof of acow, sheep, 

&c. 
Clootie, a familiar name for 

the devil. 
Clour, a bump, or swelling, 

after a blow. 
Cloutin, repairing with cloth. 
Cluds, clouds. 
Clunk, the sound in setting 

down an empty bottle. 
Coaxin, wheedling. 
Collie, a fishing-boat. 
Cod, n piUfiw. 
Coft, bought. 

Cog, and coggie, a wooden 
dish. 



Coila, from Kyle, a district in 
Ayrshire, no called, saith 
tradition, from Coil, or Coi- 
lus, a Pictish monarch. 

Collie, a general, and some- 
times a particular name for 
country curs. 

Collie-shangie, a qutirrel a- 
mong dogs, an Irish row. 

Commaun, command. 

Convoi/exl, accompanied lov- 

iugiy- 

CooVd in her linens, cool'd in 
her death-shift. 

Cood, the cud. 

Coof. a blockhead, a ninny. 

Cookit, appeared and disap- 
peared by fits. 

Cooser, a stallion. 

Coost, did cast. 

Co<jt, the ankle, a species of 
water-fowl. 

Corbies, blood crows. 

Cootie, a wooden dish, rough- 
legged. 

Core, corps, party, clan. 

Corn't, fed with oats. 

Cotter, the inhabitant of a 
house, or cottage. 

Coutliie, kind, loving. 

Cove, a cave. 

Cowe, to terrify, to keep un 
der, to lop. 

Cowp, to barter, to tumble 
over. 

Cowp the cran, to tumble a 
full bucket or basket. 

Cowpit, tumbletl. 

Cowrin, cowering. 

Cnwle, a colt. 

Cosie. snug. 

Crabbit, crabbed, fretful. 

Creaks, a disease of liorsea. 

Crack, conversation, to con- 
verse, to boast. 

Crackin', cracked, convers- 
ing, conversed. 

Craft, or crnft, a field near a 
hou.se. in old husbandry. 

Craig, craigie, neck. 

Craiks, cries or calls inces- 
santly, a bird, the corn-rail. 

Crambo-clink, or crambo- 
jingle, rhymes, doggrel 
verses. 

Crank, the noise of an un- 
greased wheel — metaphori- 
cally inharmonious ver.se. 

Cranknus, fretful, captious. 

Cranreuch, the hoar-frost, 
called in Nithsdale "frost- 
rhyme." 

Crap, a crop, to crop. 

Craw, a crow of a cock, a rook. 

Creel, a basket, to have one's 
wits in a creel, to be crazed, 
to be fascinated. 
Creshie, greasy. 
Croorl, or Croud, to coo as a 

dove. 
Croon, a hollow and con- 
tinued moan ; to make a 
noiiie like the low roar of a 
bull: to hum a tune. 
Crooning, humming. 
Crouch ic, crook-backed. 
Crouse, cheerful, courageous. 
Croiisty, cheerfully, courage- 

1 ously. 



Crowdie, a composition of oat- 
meal, boiled water and 
butter; sometimes made 
from the liroth of beef, mut- 
ton, &c.. &c. 

Crowdie time, breakfiist time. 

Crowlin, crawling, a deformed 
creeping thing. 

Crummie's nicks, marks on 
the horns of a cow. 

Crummock, crummcl, a cow 
with crooked horns. 

Crummock driddle, walk 
slowly, leaning on a staff 
with a crooked head. 

Crump-crumpin, hard and 
brittle, spoken of bread; 
frozen snow yielding to the 
foot. 

Crunt, a blow on the head 
with a cudgel. 

Cuddle, to clasp and caress. 

Cummock, a short staff with 
a crooked head. 

Curch. a covering for the 
head, a kerchief. 

Curchie, a curtesy, female 
obeisance. 

Curler, a player at a game on 
the ice, practised in. Scot- 
land, called curling. 

Curlie, curled, whose hair 
fjills naturally in ringlets. 

Curling, a well-known game 
on the ice. 

Curmurring. murmuring, a 
slight rumbling noise. 

Curpin, the crupper, the 
rump. 

Curple, the rear. 

Cushat, the dove, or wood- 
pigeon. 

Cutti/. short, a spoon broken 
in the middle. 

Cutty Stool, or, Creepie Chair, 
the seat of shame, stool of 
repentance. 

D. 

Daddie, a fiither. 

Dajfin, merriment, foolish- 
ness. 

Daft, merry, giddy, foolish ; 
Daftbuckie, mad fish. 

Daimen, rare, now and then ; 
Daimen icker, an ear of 
corn occasionally. 

Dainty, pleasant, good-hu- 
moured, a'.;reeable, rare. 

Dander ed, wandered. 

Darklins, darkling, without 
light. 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse ; 
Daudin-showers, rain urged 
by wind. 

Daur. to dare; Daurt,(isiTeil. 

Daurg or Daurk, a day's 
labour. 

Daur, daurna, dare, dare 
not. 

Davoc, diminutive of Davie, 
as Davie is of David. 

Dawd, a large piece. 

Dawin, dawning of the day. 

Dawtit, datvtet, fondled, ca- 
ressed. 

Dearies, diminutive of dears, 
sweethearts. 



596 



GLOSSARY. 



Dcarthfu', dear, expensiye. 
De.ave, to deafen. 
DeU-ma-care, no mutter for 

all that. 
Deleerit, delirious. 
Descrive, to describe, to per- 
ceive. 
Denies, duclvs. 
Digitt, to wipe, to clean corn 

from chaff. 
Dint/, to worst, to push, to 

surpass, to excel. 
DinJc. neat, lady-like. 
Dinna. do not. 
Dirl, a sliiTlit tremulous 

stroke or pain, a tremulou.s 

motion. 
Distain, stain. 
DUzen, a dozen. 
Dnchlf.r, daughter. 
Doited, stupitied, silly from 

age. 
Dolt, stupified, crazed; also 

a fool. 
Donsie, unlucky, affectedly 

neat and trim, pettish. 
Doodle, to dandle. 
Dool, sorrow, to lament, to 

mourn. 
Doos, doves, pigeons. 
Dorty, saucy, nice. 
Douse, or douce, sober, wise, 

prudent. 
Doucely, soberly, prudently. 
Douffht. was or were able. 
Douj), backside. 
DoupskcJper, one that strikes 

the tail. 
Dour and din, sullen and 

sallow. 
Douscr, more prudent. 
Dow. am or an; able, can. 
Doviff, pithless, wanting 

force. 
Dowie, worn with grief, fa- 
tigue, &c., half asleep. 
Downa, am or are not able, 

cannot. 
DoyU, wearied, exhausted. 
Dozen, stupified, the effects 

of age, to dozen, to benumb. 
Drab, a young female beggar ; 

to spot, to stain. 
Drap. a drop, to drop. 
Drappinr/. dropping. 
Drauuliiii/. {Irawling, speak- 
ing with a sectarian tone. 
Drei;p, to ooze, to drop. 
Dreigh, tedious, long about 

it, lingering. 
Dribble, drizzling, trickling. 
Driddle, the motion of one 

who tries to dance but 

moves the middle only. 
Drift, a drove, a flight of 

fowls, snow moved by the 

wind. 
Droddum, the breech. 
Drone, part of a bagpipe, the 

chanter. 
Droop ritmpVt, tliat droops at 

the crupper. 
Droukit, wet. 
Drouth, thirst, drought. 
Drucl-en, drunken 
Dfumly, jnuddy. 
Drummock. or Drammocl; 

meal and water mixed, raw. 
Drunt, pet, sour humour. 



Dub. a small pond, a hollow 
filled with rain water. 

Diuls. rags, clothes. 

Duddie, ragged. 

Dung-dang, worsted, pushed, 
stricken. 

Dunted, throbbed, beaten. 

Dush-iiuttsh, to push, or butt 
as a ram. 

Duslit, overcome with super- 
stitious fear, to drop down 
suddenly. 

Dyvor. bankrupt, or about to 
become one. 



Fe, the eye. 

Een. the eyes, the evening. 

Eebrce, the eyebrow. 

Eenin', the evening. 

Eerie, frighted, haunted, 

dreading spirits. 
Eild, old age. 
Elbuck. the elbow. 
Eldritch, ghastly, frightful. 

elvish. 
En\ end. 

Eidirugh, Edinburgh. 
Eneugh, and ((«<'»c/i, enough. 
Especial, especially. 
Ether-stone, stone formed by 

adders, an add(!r bead. 
Ettle, to try, attempt, aim. 
Eydent, diligent. 



Fa\ fall, lot, to fall, fate. 

Fa' that, to enjoy, to try, to 
inherit. 

Faildoin't, fathomed, mea- 
sured with the extended 
arm.s. 

Faes, foe.s. 

Faem, foam of the sea. 

Faiket, forgiven or excused, 
abated, a demand. 

Fainness, gladness, overcome 
with joy. 

Fairin', fairing, a present 
brought from a fair. 

Fallow, fellow. 

Fand. did find. 

Farl, a cake of bread ; third 
part of a cake. 

Fash, trouble, care, to trouble, 
to care for. 

FashcoHS, troublesome. 

Fasht. troubled. 

Fasten e'en. P'asten's even. 

Faught, fight. 

Faugh, a single furrow, out 
of lea, fallow. 

Fauld, and Fald, a fold for 
sheep, fo fold. 

Faut, fault. 

Faw.vmt, decent, seemly. 

F\:al, loyal, steadfast. 

Fearfu', fearful, frightful. 

Fear't. affrighted. 

Feat, neat, spruce, clever. 

Fecht, to fight. 

Fechtin', fighting. 

Feck and /'ek, number, quan- 
tity. 

Fecket, an under-waistcoat. 

Feckfu', large, brawny, stout. 

Feckless, puny, weak, silly. 



Feckly, mostly. 

Feg, a fig. 

Fi'gs. faith, an exclamation. 

Feide, feud, enmity. 

Fell, keen, biting ; the fle.sb 
immediately under the 
skin ; level moor. 

Felly, relentless. 

Fend, Fen, to make a shift, 
contrive to live. 

Ferlie, or fcrley, to wonder, 
a wonder, a term of con- 
tempt. 

Fetch, to pull by fits. 

Fetclrt, pulled intermit- 
tently. 

Fey. strange : one marked for 
death, predestined. 

Fidge, to fidget, fidgeting. 

Fidgin-fain, tickled with 
pleasure. 

Fient. fiend, a petty oath. 

Fien ma care, the ilevil may 
care. 

i^'ier, sound, healthy ; a bro- 
ther, a friend. 

Fierrie, bustle, activity. 

Fissle. to make a rustling 
noise, to fidget, bustle, fuss. 

Fit. foot. 

Fittie-lan, the nearer horse 
of the hindmost pair in the 
plough. 

Fi^z, to make a hissing noise, 
fuss, disturbance. 

Flafl'en, the motion of rags 
in the wind ; of wings. 

Fluinen. flannel. 

Flaiulrekins. foreign gene- 
r.als, soldiers of Flanders. 

Flang, threw with violence. 

Fleecli, to supplicate in a flat- 
tering miinncr. 

Fleeehin. supplicating. 

Flri-iili. a fleece. 

Fleg. a kick, a random blow, 
a fight. 

Fletlier, to decoy by fair 
words. 

Flct/i rin.f ethers, flattering — 
smooth wheedling words. 

Flei/, to .scare, to frighten. 

Fii'chter.llirhteriug. to flutter 
as young nestlings do when 
their dam approaches. 

Flinders, shreds, broken 
pieces. 

Flingin-iree. a ))iece of timber 
hung by way of partition 
between two horses in a 
stable; a flail. 

FUsk. Jlisky, to fret at the 
yoke. 

Flisket, fretted. 

Flitter, to vibrate like the 
wings of small birds. 

Flittering, fluttering, vibrat- 
ing, moving tremulously 
from place to place. 

Finnkie. a servant in livery. 

Flyte.Jlyting, scold; flyting, 
scolding. 

Foor. hastened. 

Foord. a ford. 

Forbears, forefathers. 

Forbye, besides. 

For/aim, distressed, worn 
out, jaded, forlorn, desti 
tute. 



GLOSSARY. 



597 



Forgather, to meet, to en- 
counter with. 
Forgle, to for.^ivc. 
Fin-inawed, worn out. 
Frrrjesket, jaded with tUtigue. 
Fill', full, drunk. 
Fnughten, forfoagliteii, trou- 
bled, fatiftued. 
Foul-thief, the devil, the arch- 

tiend.' 
Foutk, plenty, enough, or 

more than enough. 
Fuw. a measure, a bushel : 

also a pitchfork. 
Frae, from. 
Freath, froth, the frothing 

of ale in the tankard. 
Frien', friend. 
Frosty calker, the heels and 
front of a horse-.slioe, 
turned .sharply up for rid- 
ing on an icy road. 
F,i\ full. 
Fiul, the scut or tail of the 

hare, coney, &o. 
Fiiff, to blow intermittently. 
Furhant, full handed; said of 
one well to live in the 
world. 
Funitic, full of merriment. 
Fur a/till, the hindmost hor.se 
on the right hand when 
ploughing. 
Furder, further, succeed 
Fiirm, a form, a bench. 
Fusi'inless, spiritless, without 

sap or soul. 
Fnkf, trifling cares, to be in 

a fus.s aliout trifles. 
Fi/le, to soil, to dirty. 
Fylt, soiled, dirtied. 

G. 

Giih. the mouth, to speak 
boldly or pertly. 

G.ihe.rhinziii, wallet-man, or 
tinker. 

Giie. to go; giaed, went ; gane. 
or gaeii, gone ; gaun, goin 

GoLct or ijatR, way, manner, 
road. 

Gairs, parts of a lady's gown. 

Gang, to go. to walk. 

Gangrel, a wandering person. 

Gar, to make, to force to; 
gar't, forced to. 

Garte.li, a garter. 

Gash, wise, sag.acious, talka- 
tive, to conver.se. 

Gatty, failing in body. 

Gaucy, jolly, large, plump. 

Gaud and gad, a rod or goad. 

Gaudsinan, one who drives 
the horses at the plough. 

Gaun. going. 

Gaunted, yawned, longed. 

Gawl-ie.,iL thoughtless person, 
and something weak. 

Gaylie,<:, gylie. pretty well. 

Gear, riches, goods of any 
kind. 

Geek, to toss the head in wan- 
tonness or scorn. 

Ge/I, a pike. 

Gentles, great folks. 

Genty, elegant. 

Geordk, George, a guinea, 
called Geordie from the | Grape, to 
head of King George. 1 groped 



Gel and gcat, a child, a young 

one. 
Gkaist, ghaistis, a ghost. 
Gin, to give ; gied, gave ; gien, 

given. 
Giftie, diminutive of gift. 
Giglels, laughing maidens. 
Gillie, gillock, diminutive of 

gill. 
Gilpei/, a half-grown, half in- 
formed boy or girl, a romp- 
ing lad, a hoyden. 
Gimmer, an ewe two years 
old, a contemptuous term 
for a woman. 
Gill, if, against. 
Oi/isey, a young girl. 
Girdle, a round iron plate on 

which oat-cake is fired. 
Girn, to grin, to twist the 
features in rage, agony, &c.; 
grinning. 
Gizz. a periwig, the face. 
GlaViit. inattentive, fooli.sh. 
Glaice, a sword. 
Glaizie, glittering, smooth, 

like glass. 
Glaumed, grasped, snatched 

at eagerly. 
Girran, a poutherie girran, a 
little vigorous animal ; a 
horse rather old, but yet 
active when heated. 
Ghd, a hawk. 
Gleg, .sharp, ready. 
Gley. a squint, to srjuint; a- 

gley, off at a side, wrong. 
Gleyde, an old horse. 
Glib-gahbit, that speaks 

smoothly and readily. 
Glieh o' lan\ a portion of 
ground. The ground be- 
longing to a manse is called 
" the glieb," or portion. 
Glint, glintin', to peep. 
Glinted by, went brightly 

past. 
Gloamin, the twilight. 
Gloamin-shot, twilight-mus- 
ing; a shot in the twilight. 
Glowr, to stare, to look; a 

stare, a look. 
Glowran, amazed, looking 

su.spiciously, gazing. 
Glum, displeased. 
Gnr-cocks, the red-game, red- 
cock, or moor-cock. 
Gowan, the flower of the 
daisy, dandelion, hawk- 
weed, &c. 
Gowany, covered with daisies. 
Goavan, walking as if blind, 

or without an aim. 
Goiud, gold. 
Gnwl, to howl. 

Goiuff, a fool ; the game of 
golf, to strike, as the bat 
does the b.all at golf. 
Gowk, term of contempt, the 

cuckoo. 
Grane or grain, a groan, to 
groan ; graining, groaning. 
Graip, a pronged instrument 

for cleaning cowhouses. 
Graith, accoutrements, furni- 
ture, dress. 
Grannie, grandmother. 

grope ; grapet. 



Great, grit, intimate, familiar. 

Gree, to agree; to bear the 
yrec, to be decidedly victor; 
gree't, agreed. 

Green-graff, green grave. 

Gruesome, loathsomely, grim. 

Greet, to shed tears, to weep ; 
greetin'. weeping. 

Grey-neck-quill, a quill unfit 
for a pen. 

Griens, longs, desires. 

Grieves, stewards. 

Grippit, seized. 

Groanin-Maut, drink for the 
cummers at a lyiug-in. 

Groat, to get the whistle of 
one's groat; to play a los- 
ing game, to feel the con- 
sequences of one's folly. 

Groset, a gooseberry. 

Grumjih. a grunt, to grunt. 

Grumphie, Gruinphin, a. sow; 
the snorting of an angry 
pis- 

Grun', ground. 

drunsliine, a grindstone. 

Gruntle. the phiz, the snout, 
a grunting noise- 

Grumie, a mouth which 
pokes out like that of a pig. 

Grushie. thick, of thriving 
growth. 

Gude, guid. guids, the Su- 
preme Being, good, goods. 

Giule auld-has-been, was once 
excellent. 

Guid-mi/rnin', good-morrow. 

Guid-e'e.n. good evening. 

Guidfather and guidmother, 
father-in-law, and mother- 
in-law. 

Guidnian and guidivi/e, the 
master and mistress of the 
house; young guidnian, a 
man newly married. 

Gully or Gutlie, a large knife. 

Gulravage. joyous mischief. 

Gumlie, muddy. 

Gumption, discernment, 
knowledge, talent. 

Gusty, gust/u', tasteful. 

Gut-scraper, a fiddler. 

Gutclier, grandsire. 

H. 

Ha\ hall. 

Ha' Bible, the great Bible 

that lies in the hall. 
Iladdin', house, home, dwell- 
ing-place, a possession. 
Hae, to have, to accept. 
Haen, had (the participle of 

h.ae) ; haven. 
Ilaet, fient haet, a petty oath 

of negation; nothing. 
Haffet, the temple, the side 

of the head. 
Hafflins, nearly half, partly, 

not fully grown. 
Hag, a gulf in mosses and 

moors, moss-ground. 
Haggis, a kind of pudding, 

boiled in the stomach of a 

cow, or sheep. 
Haiti, to spare, to save, to 

lay out at interest. 
Hain'd. spared; hain'd gear, 

hoarded money. 
Hairst, harvest. 



598 



GLOSSARY. 



Hdilh, a petty onth. 

Haivpra, uoiisense, speaking 
without thousrht. 

Hal', or hald, au abiding 
place. 

Hdlc. or haill, whole, tight, 
healthy. 

HnUan. a particular parti- 
tion-wall iu a cottage, or 
more properly a seat of 
turf at the outside. 

Halloiumass, Ilallow-eve, 31st 
October. 

Haly, holy; "lialy-pool," 
holy well with healing 
qualities. 

Tffiiir. home. 

Ufiinmered, the noise of feet 
like the diu of hammers. 

Han's breed, hand'.s breath. 

Hanks, thread as it comes 
from the measuring reel, 
quantities, &c. 

Hansid-thr/me, throne when 
first occupied by a king. 

Hap, an outer garment, 
mantle, plaid, &c. ; to wrap, 
to cover, to hap. 

Harii/als, heart, liver, and 
lights of au anioial. 

Hap-sliaclied, when a fore 
and hind foot of a ram are 
fastened together to pre- 
vent leaping, he is said to 
be hap-shackled. A wife 
is called " the kirk's hap- 
sliackle." 

Hipper, a hopper, the hop- 
per of a mill. 

Happing, hopping. 

Hap-stcp-an'-loup, hop, step, 
and leap. 

Harkit, hearkened. 

Hirn, a very coarse linen. 

i?i(.5/i, a fellow who knows not 
how to act with propriety. 

Hastit, hastened. 

Haud, to hold. 

Haui/hs, low-lying, rich land, 
valley.s. 

Haurl, to drag, to pull vio- 
lently. 

Haurlin, tearing off, pulling 
roughly. 

Haver-meal, oatmeal. 

Hiveril, a halfwitted person, 
halfwitted, one who habi- 
tually talks in a foolish or 
incoherent manner. 

Havins, good manners, deco- 
rum, good sense. 

Hawl-ie, a cow, properly one 
.with a white face. 

Heaplt, heaped. 

Heahome, healthful, whole- 
some. 

Hearse, hoarse. 

Heather, heath. 

Hecli. oh strange' an ex- 
clamation during heavy 
work. 

HecM. promised, to foretell 
.something that is to be got 
or given, foretold, the thing 
foretold, offered. 

Heelde, a board in which an? 
fixed a number of sharp 
steel prongs upright for 
dres.sing hemp, flax, &c. 



Hee balnu, words used to 
soothe a child. 

Heels-nwre-ynwdie, topsy-tur- 
vy, turned the bottom up- 
wards. 

Heeze, to elevate, to rise, to 
lift: 

Hellim, the rudder or helm. 

Herd, to tend Hocks, one who 
tends flocks. 

Herrin', a herring. 

Herry, to plunder; most pro- 
perly to plunder birds' 
nests. 

Herryment, plundering, de- 
vastation. 

Hersel-hirsel, a flock of sheep, 
also a herd of cattle of any 
sort. 

Het, hot, heated. 

Heuijh, a crag, a ravine ; cnal- 
heugh, a coal-pit; Imvin 
heug/i, a blazing pit. 

Hilch, hilclnn', to halt, halt- 
ing. 

Hiney, honey. 

Hhtij, to hang. 

Hirple, to walk crazily, to 
walk lamely, to creep. 

Histie, dry, <hapt, barren. 

Hitcht, a loop, made a knot. 

Hizzie. huzzy, a young girl. 

Hoddin, the motion of a hu.s- 
bandman riiling on a cart- 
horse, humble. 

Hoddingray. woollen cloth 
of a coarse quality, made by 
mingling one black fleece 
with a dozen white ones. 

Hoggie, a two-year-old sheep. 

Hng-score, a distance line in 
curling drawn acros.s the 
rink. When a stone fails 
to cross it, a cry is raised of 
"A hog, a hog!" and it is 
removed. 

Hng-shmdher. a kind of horse- 
play by justling with the 
shoulder; tojustle. 

Hondie-craw, a blood crow, 
corbie. 

Hool, outer skin or case, a 
nutshell, a pea-husk. 

Hmh'e, slowly, leisurely. 

Hnord. a hoard, to hoard. 

Hmrdit, hoarded. 

Horn, a spoon made of horn. 

Hornie, one of the many 
names of the devil. 

Hiist. or hoassl. to cough. 

Hnstin, coughing. 

HritcKd, turn(!d topsy-turvy, 
blended, ruined, moved. 

Hnnghmagandie, loose be- 
haviour. 

Howlet. an owl. 

Hoitsie, diminutive of house. 

Jprve. hoved.to heave, to swell. 

Hiwdie. a midwife. 

Howe, hollow, a hollow or 
dell. 

Hint'ehacldt. sunk in the back, 
spoken of a horse. 

Howff, a house of I'esort. 

Howk. to dig. 

Hnwh-it. digged. 

H'iw!,in\ digging deep. 

Jf'ii/. Iiny't, to urge, urired. 

Huyse, a pull upwards. 



" Iloyse a creel," to raise a 

basket; hence "hoisting 

creels." 
Hayc, to amble crazily. 
Htighoc, diminutive of 

Ilughie, as Hughie is of 

Hugh. 
Hums and haniers, mumbles 

and seeks to do what he 

cannot perform. 
Hunhers, kneeling and fall- 
ing back on the hams. 
Hurcheon, a hedgehog. 
Hardies, the loins, the crup- 

pet. 
Hashion, a cushion, also a 

stocking wanting the foot. 
Huchyalled, to move with a 

hilch. 

I. 

Iclxr, an ear of corn. 

lerne, a great grandchild. 

Ilk, or ilka, each, every. 

Ill-deedie, mischievous. 

IllrivUlie, ill-natured, mali- 
cious, niggardly. 

Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 

Ingle, fire, fireplace. 

Inyle-lmv, light from the fire, 
flame from the hearth. 

1 rede ye, I advise ye, I wara 

ye- 

I'se. I shall or will. 
Ither, other, one another. 



Jad, jade ; also a familiar term 
among country folks for a 
giddy young girl. 

Jauk. to dally, to trifle. 

Jaukin', trifling, dallying. 

Jauner, talking, and not al- 
ways to the purpo.se. 

Jaup. a jerk of water; to jei'k, 
as agitated water. 

Jaw, coarse raillery, to pour 
out, to shut, to jerk as 
water. 

Jillel, a jilt, a giddy girl. 

Jimp, to jump, slender in the 
waist, handsome. 

Jink, to dodge, to turn a cor- 

■ ner; a sudden turning, a 
corner. 

Jink an' diddle, moving to 
music, motion of a fiddlers 
elbow. Starting here and 
there with a tremulous 
movement. 

Jinker, that turns quickly, a 
gay sprightly girl. 

Jinkin', dodging, the quick 
motion of the bow on the 
fiddle. 

Jirl, a jerk, the emission of 
water, to squirt. 

Jocteleg. a kind of knife. 

Jouk, to stoop, to bow the 
head, to conceal. 

Joiv. ti> jow. a verb, which 
includes both the swing- 
ing motion and pealing 
sound of a large bell ; 
also the undulation of 
water. 

JuniUe. to justle, a push with 
the elbow. 



GLOSSARY. 



599 



K. 

K'tc, a daw. 

Xuil, ccilewort, a kind of 

broth. 
Kailrunt, the steal of cole- 
wort. 
Kain, fowls, &c., paid as rent 

by a farmer. 
Kebars, viidi'va. 
Kebbuck, a cheese, 
ifec/i-fe, joyous cry; to cackle 

as a hen. 
Keek, a keek, to peep. 
Kelpies, a sort of mischievous 
Wilter-spirit, said to hauut 
fords and ferries at night, 
especially in storms. 
Ken, to know ; ken'd or ken't, 

knew. 
Krniiin. a small matter. 
Kel-Krtty, matted, a fleece of 

wool. 
Kiauiiht. carking, anxiety, to 

be in a flutter. 
KUt. to truss up the clothes. 
Kiinmer, a young girl, a gos- 
sip. 
Kin', kindred. 
Kin', kind. 
King's-huod, a certain part of 

the entrail.-J of an ox. 
Kintra, kintrie, country. 
Kirn, the harvest supper, a 

churn. 
Kir sen, to christen, to baptize. 
Kist, chest, a shop-counter. 
Kitclien, anything that eats 
with bread, to serve fori 
soup, gravy. 
Kittle, to tickle, ticklish. j 
Kittlinij, a young cat. The I 
ace of diamonds is called 
among rustics the kittliu's 
e'e. 
Kmigrjie, like knags, or points 

of rocks. 
Knappin-hammer, a hammer 
for breaking stones ; knap, 
to strike or break. 
Knurlin, crooked but strong, 

knotty. 
Knowe, a small, round hil- 
lock, a knoll. 
KuiUlc. to cuddle ; kuitlin, 

cuddling, fondling. 
Ki/e, cows. 

Kyle, a district in Ayrshire. 
Kyte, the belly. 
Kyt/ie, to discover, to show 
one's self. 

L. 

Lahnur, thrash. 

Laddie, diminutive of lad. 

Laggen, the angle between 

the side and the bottom of 

a wooden dish. 
Laigh, low. 
Lairing, lairie, wading, and 

sinking in snow, mud, &c., 

miry. 
Lailh, loath, impure. 
LailhftC, bashful, sheepish, 

abstemious. 
Lallans, Scottish dialect, 

Lowlands. 
Lainbie, diminutive of lamb. 
Lammas moon, harvest-moon. 



Lampil, a kind of shell-fish, 

a limpet. 
L<in\ land, estate. 
Lun'-aJ'(ire. foremost horse in 

the plough. 
Lan'-aliin, hindmost horse in 

the plough. 
Lane, lone ; my lane, thy lane, 

&c., my.self alone. 
Lanely, lonely. 
Lang, long ; to think lang, to 

long, to weary. 
Lap, did leap. 

Late and air, late and early. 
Lave, the rest, the remainder, 

the others. 
Laverock, the lark. 
Lawlan', lowland. 
Lay my dead, attribute my 

death. 
Leal, loyal, true, faithful. 
Lear, learning, lore. 
Lee-lang, live-long. 
Leesinne luve, happy, glad- 
some love. 
Leeze me, a phrase of congra- 
tulatory endearment: I am 
happy in thee or proud of 
thee. 

Leister, a three-pronged and 
barbed dart for .striking fish 
Leugh, did laugh. 
Leak, a look, to look. 
Libbet, castrated. 
Liclc, ticket, beat, thrashen. 
Lift, sky, firmament. 
Lightly, sneeringly, to sneer 

at, to undervalue. 
Lilt, a ballad, a tune, to 

sing. 
Limmer, a kept mistress, a 

strumpet. 
Limp't, limjjed, hobbled. 
Link, to ti-ip along; linkin, 

tripping along. 
Linn, a waterfall, a cascade. 
Lint, flax ; li7it i' the bell, flax 

in flower. 
Jjintwhite, a linnet, flaxen. 
Loan, the place of milking. 
Loaning, lane. 
Loof, the palm of the hand. 
Loot, did let. 
Lnoves, the plural of loof. 
Losh man! rustic exclama- 
tion modified from Lord 
man. 
Loun. a fellow, a ragamufiin, 

a woman of easy virtue. 
Loup, leap.startled with pain. 
Louper-lilce, lau-louper, a 
stranger of a suspected 
character. 
Lowe, a flame. 

Lowin', flaming; lowin- 
drouth, burning desire for 
drink. 
Lowrie, abbreviation of Law- 
rence. 
Loivse. to loose. 
Loivsed, unbound, loosed. 
Lug, the ear. 

Lug of the law, at the judg- 
ment-seat. 
Lugget; having a handle. 
Luggif., a small wooden dish, 

with a handle. 
Lum.. the chimney; lum-head, 
chimney-top. 



Lunch, a large piece of cheese. 

flesh. &c. 
Lant, a column of smoke, to 

smoke, to walk quickly. 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, 

gray. 

M. 

Mae-, and mair, more. 
Maggot' s-meal, food for tlio 

worms. 
Malioun, Satan. 
Mailen, a farm. 
Maist, most, almo,<it. 
Maistly, mostly, for the great- 
er part. 
Mak', to make ; makin', mak- 
ing. 
Mally, Molly, Mary. 
Miing, among. 

Manse, the house of the parish 
minister is called "the 
Manse." 
Manteele, a mantle. 
Mark, marks. This and se- 
veral other nouns which in 
England require an s to 
form the plural, are in 
Scotch, like the wonls 
sheep, deer, the same in 
both numbers. 

Mark, merl: a Scottish coin, 
value thirteen shillings 
and four-pence. 

Marled, party-coloured. 

Mar's year, the year 1715. 
Called Mar's year from the 
rebellion of Erskine, Earl 
of Mar. 

Martial chuck, the soldier's 
camp-comrade, female com- 
panion. 

-MashUim, mixed corn. 

Mask, to mash, as malt, &c., 
to infuse. 

Maskin-pat. teapot. 

Maukin, a hare. 

Maun, mauna, must, must 
not. 

Maut, malt. 

Mavis, the thrush. 

Maiu, to mow. 

Mawin, mowing ; maun, 
mowed; maw'd, mowed. 

Mawn, a small basket, with- 
out a handle. 

Meere. a mare. 

Meluncholious, mournful. 

Melder, a load of corn, &e., 
sent to the mill to be 
ground. 

Mell, to be intimate, to med- 
dle, also a mallet for pound- 
ing barley in a stone 
trough. 

Melvie, to soil with meal. 

Men', to mend. 

Mense. good manners, deco- 
rum. 

MenseAess, ill-bred, rude, im- 
pxident. 

Merle, the blackbird. 

Messin, a small dog. 

Middin, a dunghill. 

Middin-creeU, duug-baskefs, 
panniers in which horses 
carry manure. 

Middin-liole. a gutter at the 
bottom of a dunghill. 



600 



GLOSSARY. 



Milkin-sliiel, a place where 
cows or ewes are brought 
to be milked. 

Mtm, prim, alTectedly meek. 

Mini-moii'd, gentle-mouthed. 

Mill', to remember. 

JUinawae, minuet. 

Mind't, mind it, resolved, in- 
tending, remembered. 

Minnie, mother, dam. 

Mirk, dark. 

Misca', to abuse, to call 
names; misca'd, abused. 
r Misclianler, accident. 

Misleard, mischievous, un- 
mannerly. 

Misteuk, mistook. 

Milker, mother. 

Mixlie-maxtie, confusedly 
mixed, mish-mash. 

Moistify, moistified, to mois- 
ten, to soak; moistened, 
soaked. 

Mnns-meg, a large piece of 
ordnance, to be seen at the 
Castle of Edinburgh, com- 
posed of iron bars welded 
together and then hooped. 

Monls. earth. 

Mimy, or mnnie, many. 

Moop, to nibble as a sheep. 

Modrlan, of or belonging to 
moors. 

Morn, the next day, to-moi-- 
row. 

Mou. the mouth. 

Jt' iiuliwnrt, a mole. 

Miiusie, diminutive of mouse. 

MacLle, or mickle, great, big, 
much. 

Muses-stank, muses-rill, a 
stank, slow-flowing water. 

Musie, diminutive of muse. 

Muslin-kail, broth, composed 
simply of water, shelled 
barley, and greens; thin 
poor broth. 

Mutchkin, an English pint. 

My set, myself. 

N. 

Na', no, not, nor. 

Nae, or na, no, not any. 

NaAhing, or nailhiny, noth- 
ing. 

Nai(j, a hor.se, a nag. 

Nane, none. 

Nappy, ale, to be tipsy. 

NecjUckit, neglected. 

Neehor, a neighbour. 

Neuk, nook. 

Ndst, next. 

Niei>e, nief, the fist. 

Nievefu\ handful. 

Niffe.r, an e,xchange,to barter. 

Niger, a negro. 

Nine-tailed cat, a hangman's 
whip. 

Nit, a nut. 

Norland, of or belonging to 
the north. 

Notict, noticed. 

Nowte, black cattle. 

0. 
0\ of. 

O'ergang, overbearjngness, to 
treat with indignity, liter- 
ally to tread. 



O'erlay, an upper cravat. 

Ony, or onie, any. 

Or, is often used for ere, be- 
fore. 

Orra-duddies, superfluous 
rags, old clothes. 

OH, of it. 

Ourie, drooping, shivering. 

Oursel, oursets, ourselves. 

Outlers, outliers; cattle un- 
housed. 

Ower, owre, over. 

Owre-liip, striking with a 
fore-hammer, by bringing 
it with a swing over the 
hip. 

Owsen, oxen. 

Oxtered, carried or supported 
under the arm. 



Pack, Intimate, familiar: 
twelve stone of wool. 

PaidU, paidlen, to walk with 
difficulty, as if in water. 

Painch, paunch. 

Puitrick, a partridge. 

Pang, to cram. 

Parle, courtship. 

Parishen, p.arish. 

Parritch, oatmeal pudding, a 
well-known Scotch drink. 

Pat, did put, a pot. 

Puttie, or pettle, a small spade 
to clean the plough. 

Paughty, proud, haughty. 

Pauky, cunning, sly. 

Pay't, p.aid. beat. 

Peat-reek, the smoke of burn- 1 
ing turf, a bitter exhala- 
tion, whisky. 

Peck, to fetch the breath 
shortly, as in an asthma. 

Pechan, the crop,the stomach. 

Pechin, respiring with diffi- 
culty. 

Pennie, riches. 

Pet, a domesticated sheep, 
Ac, a favourite. 

Pettle, to cherish. 

Philabeg, the kilt. 

Phraise, fair speeches, flat- 
tery, to flatter. 

Phraisin, flattering. 

Pibroch, a martial air. 

Pickle, a small quantity, one 
grain of corn. 

Pigmy-scraper, little fiddler; 
a term of contempt for a 
bad player. 

Pint-stovp, a two-quart mea- 
sure. 

Pitie, pain, uneasiness. 

Pingle, a small pan for warm- 
ing children's sops. 

Plack, an old Scotch coin, 
the third part of an Eng- 
lish penny. 

Plackless, pennyless, without 
money. 

Pktiih'p diminutive of plaid. 

Plant, aimiiiutive of plate. 

Plew, or pleugh, a plough. 

Ptiskie. a trick. 

Plumrose, primrose 

Pock, a meal-bag. 

Poind, to seize on cattle, or 
take the goods as the laws 



of Scotland allow, for rent, 
&c. 

Poortith, poverty. 

Posie, a nosegay, a garland. 

Puu, pou'd, to pull, pulled. 

Poitk, to pluck. 

Poussie. a hare or cat. 

Pousc, to pi uck with the hand. 

Pout, a polt, a chick. 

Pout, did pull. 

Poutherey. fiery, active. 

Piiutliery, like powdi'r. 

Pmo, the head, the skull. 

Pownie, a little horse, a pony. 

Poicther, or pouther, gun- 
powder. 

Preclair, supereminent. 

Preen, a pin. 

Prent. printing, print. 

Prie, to taste; prie'd, tasted. 

Prief, proof 

Prig, to cheapen, to dispute: 
priggin, cheapening. 

l^rimsie, demure, precise. 

Propone, to lay down, to pro- 
pose. 

Pund, piind o' tow, pound, 
pound weight of the refuse 
of flax. 

Pyet, a magpie. 

Pyle. a pyle o' cajf, a single 
grain of chaff. 

I'ystle, epistle. 

Q. 
Quat, quit. 

Qitak, the cry of a duck. 
Qwcb, a drinking-c'up made 

of wood with two handles. 
Quey, a cow fi-om cue to two 

years old. a heifer. 
Quines, que.ans. 
Qaakin, quaking. 

B. 

Pagweed, herb-ragwort. 

Paible, to rattle, nonsense. 

Pair, to roar. 

Raize, to madden, to inflame. 

Pamfeezled, fatigued, over- 
powered. 

Painpin, raging. 

Jkiinstam, thoughtless, for- 
ward. 

Punilie, a scolding sturdy 
beggar, a shrew. 

Pantin', joyous. 

liapbich, properly a coarse 
cloth, but used for coarse. 

Jlariiy, excellently, very well. 

Piisli, a rush ; rash-buss, a 
bush of rushes. 

Button, a rat. 

Paucle. rash, stout, fearless, 
reckless. 

Paught, reached. 

Paw, a row. 

Pax, to stretch. 

Peam, cream, to cream. 

Reainin'. brimful, frothing. 

Peai'e, take by force. 

Pehate. to repulse, rebuke. 

Peck, to heed. 

Pede, counsel, to counsel, to 
discourse. 

Ped-peats, burning turfs. 

Red-wat-shnd, walking in 
blood over the shoe-tops. 



GLOSSARY. 



601 



Sed-wud, stark mad. 

i^ce, half drunk, fuddled; a 

ree yaud, a wild horse. 
Heek, smoke. 
Jieelcin', smoking. 
Reekit, smoked, smoky. 
MeestU, stood restive; stunted, 

withered. 
Remead, remedy. 
Requite, requited. 
Ri'.stricked. restricted. 

Rew, to smile, look affec- 
tionately, tenderly. 

Rickles, shocks of corn, stocks. 

Riddle, instrument for puri- 
fying corn. 

Rief-randies, men who take 
the property of others, ac- 
companied by violence and 
rude words. 

Rig, a ridge. 

.Rin, to run, to melt; rinnin', 
running. 

Rink, the course of the 
stones, a term in curling 
on ice. 

Rip, a handful of uuthreshed 
corn. 

Ripples, pains in the back 
and loins, sounds which 
usher in death. 

Ripplin-kame, instrument for 
dressing flax. 

Riskit, a noise like the tear- 
ing of roots. 

Rockin', a denomin.ation for 
a friendly visit. In former 
times young women met 
with their distaffs during 
the winter evenings, to 
sing, and spin, and be 
merry; these were called 
" rockings." 

Roke, distaff. 

Roi)d, stands likewise for the 
plural, roods. 

RooH, a shred, the selvage of 
woollen cloth. 

Rnose, to praise, to commend. 

Roun', round, in the circle 
of neighbourhood. 

Rouprt, hoarse, as with a cold. 

Row, to roll, to rap, to roll as 
water. 

Rmu't, rolled, wrapped. 

Rowtc, to low, to bellow. 

Rnwlh, plenty. 

Rowtiii', lowing. 

Rnzel, rosin. 

jKMinWe-^!i»y)ijojj,rough com- 
mon-sense. 

Run-deils, downright devils. 

Run;;, a cudgel. 

Runt, the stem of colewort or 
cabbage. 

Runkled, wrinkled. 

Rutli, a woman's name, the 
book so called, sorrow. 

Ryke, reach. 



Sae. so. 

Saft, soft. 

Sair, to serve, a sore ; sairic, 

sorrowful. 
Sairly, sorely. 
Sair't, served. 
(Sxrfc, a shirt. 
Sarkit, provided in shirts. 
51 



Saugh, willow. 
Saugh-woodies, withies, made 
of willows, now supplanted 
by ropes and chains. 
Said, soul. 
Saumont, salmon. 
Saunt, sauntet, saint ; to varn- 
ish. 
Saut, salt. 
Saw, to sow. 
Sawin\ sowing. 
Sax, six. 
Scaud, to scald. 
Scauld, to scold. 
Scaur, apt to be scared; a 
precipitous bank of earth 
which the stream has 
washed red. 
Scawl, a scold. 
Scone, a kind of bread. 
Scanner, a loathing, to loath. 
Scraich and Scricgh, to 
scream, as a hen or part 
ridge. 
Screed, to tear, a rent; sci-eed- 

ing, tearing. 
Scrieve, scrieven, to glide 

softly, gleesomely along. 
Scrimp, to scant. 
Scrimpet, scant, scanty. 
Scroggie, covered with under- 
wood, busby. 
Sculdudrejj, fornication. 
Seizin', seizing. 
SeV, self; a body's seV, one's 

self alone. 
SdVt, did sell. 
Sen', to send. 
Serva7i', servant. 
Settlin', settling; to get a 
seltlin', to be frighted into 
quietness. 
Sets, sets off, goes away. 
Shacldet-feet, ill-shaped. 
Shair'd, a shred, a shard. 
Shangan, a stick cleft at one 
end for pulling the tail of a 
dog, &c., by way of mischief, 
or to frighten him away. 
Shank-it, walk it; sitanks, legs. 
Shaid, shallow. 
Shaver, a humorous wag, a 

barber. 
Shavie, to do an ill turn. 
Shaw, to show ; a small wood 

in a hollow place. 
Sheep-shank, to think one's self 
nae sheep-shank, to be con- 
ceited. 
Sherra-muir, Sherriff-Muir, 
the famous battle of, 1715. 
Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a 

sluice. 
Shiel, shealing, a shepherd's 

cottage. 
Shill, shrill. 
Shog, a shock, a push off at 

one side. 
Shoo, ill to please, ill to fit. 
Shool, a shovel. 
Shoon, shoes. 

Shore, to offer, to threaten. 
Shor'd, half offered and 

threatened. 
Shouther, the shoulder. 
Shot, one traverse of the 
shuttle from side to side of 
the web. 
Sic, such. 



Sicker, sure, steady. 

Sidelins, sideling, .slanting. 

Silkcn-snnod, a fillet of silk, a 
token of viriiinity. 

Siller, silver, money, white. 

Simmer, summer. 

Sin, a son. 

Sinsyne, since then. 

Skailh, to damage, to injure, 
injury. 

Skeigh, proud, nice, saucy, 
mettled. 

Skeigh, shy, maiden coyness. 

Skellum, a noisy reckless fel- 
low. 

Skelp, to strike, to slap; to 
walk with a smart tripping 
step, a smart stroke. 

Skelpi-limmer, a technical 
term in female scolding. 

Skelpin, skelpit, striking, 
walking rapidly, literally 
striking the ground. 

Skinklin, thin, gauzy, scal- 
tery. 

Skirling, shrieking, crying. 

Skirl, to cry, to shriek shril- 
ly- 

SkirVt, shrieked. 

Sklent, slant, to run aslant, 
to deviate from truth. 

Sklented, ran, or hit, in an 
oblique direction. 

Skouth, vent, free action. 

Skre.igh, a scream, to scream, 
the first cry uttered by a 
child. 

Skyte, a worthless fellow, to 
slide rapidly off. 

Skyrin, party-coloured, the 
checks of the tartan. 

Slae, sloe. 

Slade, did slide. 

Slap, a gate, a breach in a 
fence. 

Slaw, slow. 

Slee, sleest, sly, slyest. 

Sleekii, sleek, sly. 

Sliddery, slippery. 

Slip-shod, smooth shod. 

S token, quench, slake. 

Slype, to fall over, as a wet 
furrow from the plough. 

Siypet-o'er, fell over with a 
slow reluctant motion. 

Sina', small. 

Sme.ddum, dust, powder, 
mettle, sense, sagacity, 

Smiddy, smithy. 

Smirking, good-natured, 
wiuking. 

Smoor, smoored, to smother, 
smothered. 

Smoutie. smutty, obscene; 
smoutiephiz, sooty aspect. 

Smytrie, a numerous collec- 
tion of small individuals. 

Snapper, mistake. 

Snash, abuse, Billingsgate, 
impertinence. 

Snaw, snow, to snow. 

Snaw-broo, melted snow. 

Snaioie, snowy. 

Snap, to lop, to cut off. 

Sned-besoms, to cut brooms. 

Sneeshin, snuff. 

Sneeshin-mill, a snuff box. 

Sncll and snelly, bitter, bit- 
ing ; snellesl, bitterest. 



602 



GLOSSARY. 



Snick-drawing, trick, contriy- 
ing. 

Snick, the latehet of a door. 

Snirt,sinrUe, concealed lauuch- 
ter, to breathe the nostrils 
in a displeased manner. 

Snool, one whose spirit is 
broken with oppressive 
slavery ; to submit tamely, 
to sneak. 

iSnoove, to go smoothly and 
coustiintly, to sueak. 

SnowL; snowkit, to scent or 
snulT as a dog, scented, 
snuffed. 

Sodger, a. soldier. 

Sonsie, having sweet engag- 
ing looks, lucky, jolly. 

Soom, to swim. 

Souk, to suck, to drink long 
and enduringly. 

Soiipli', tU'xilile, swift. 

Souplcil. suppli'd. 

Smdhn; tu solder. 

SouIl'i; a shoemaker. 

Sowf.ns, the fine flour remain- 
ing among the seeds of oat- 
meal made into an agree- 
able pudding. 

Sowp, a spoonful, a small 
quantity of anything li- 
quid. 

Sowlh, to try over a tune 
with a low whistle. 

Spae, to prophesy, to divine. 

Spalls, chips, splinters. 

Spaul, a limb. 

Spairge, to clash, to soil, as 
with mire. 

Spates, sudden floods. 

Spaviet, having the spavin. 

Speat, a sweeping torrent 
after rain or thaw. 

Speel, to climb. 

Spence, the parlour of a farm- 
house or cottage. 

Spier, to ask, to inquire; 
spiert, inquired. 

Spinnin-graith, wheel and 
roke and lint. 

Splatter, to splutter, a splut- 
ter. 

SpUughan, a tobacco-pouch. 

Splore, a frolic, noise, riot. 

Sprachled, scrambled. 

Spratlle, to scriimble. 

Spreckled, .spotted, speckled. 

Spring, a quick air in music, 
a Scottish reel. 

Sjn-it, spret, a tough-rooted 
plant something like 
rushes.jointed-leaved rush. 

Sprittie, full of spirits. 

Spunk, iire, mettle,wit, spark. 

Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery ; 
will o' the wisp, or ignis 
fatuus; the devil. 

Spurlle, a stick used in mak- 
ing oatmeal pudding or 
porridge, a notable Scot- 
tish dish. 

Squad, a crew or party, a 
squadron. 

Squatter, to flutter in water, 
as a wild-duck, Ac. 

Squaltle, to sprawl in the act 
of hiding. 

Sqiieel, a scream, a screech, to 
scream. 



Stacher, to stagger. 

Stack, a rick of corn, hay, 
peats. 

Staggie, a stag. 

Staig, a two-year-old horse. 

StiUivart, stately, strong. 

Slang, sting, stung. 

Stan', to stand; stan't, did 
stand. 

Slant', stone. 

Stank, did stink, a pool of 
standing water, slow-mov- 
ing water. 

Stap, stop, stave. 

Stark, stout, potent. 

Startle, to run as cattle stung 
by the gadfly. 

Staukin. stalking, walking 
disdainfully, walking with- 
out an aim. 

Staumrel, a blockhead, half- 
witted. 

Staiv, did steal, to surfeit. 

Stec/t, to cram the belly. 

Stecliin, cramming. 

Sleek, to shut, a stitch. 

Steer, to molest, to stir. 

Sleeve, firm, compacted. 

Stell, a still. 

Sten, to rear as a horse, to 
leap suddenly. 

Slravagin, wandering with- 
out an aim. 

St4:nts, tribute, dues of any 
kind. 

Stei/, steep ; styyest, steepest. 

SUhble, stubble ; stubble-rig, 
the reaper in harvest who 
takes the lead. 

Slick-an'-stow, totally, alto- 
gether. 

Still-stilts, a crutch ; to limp, 
to halt: poles for crossing 
a river. 

Stimj>art, the eighth part of a 
Winchester bushel. 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year 
old. 

Stock, a plant of colewort, 
cabbages. 

Sl()ckin\ stocking; throwing 
the stockin', when the bride 
and bridegroom are put 
into bed, the former throws 
a stocking at random a- 
mong the company, and 
the person whom it falls on 
is the next that will be 
married. 

Stook, stooked, a shock of corn, 
made into shocks. 

Slot, a young bull or ox. 

Stound, sudden pang of the 
heart. 

Sloiip, or slowp, a kind of high 
narrow jug or dish with a 
handle for holding liquids. 

Stowre, dust, more particu- 
larly dust in motion ; stow- 
rie. dusty. 

SlowUns, by stealth. 

Slown, stolen. 

Stoyte, the walking of a 
drunken man. 

Straek, did strike. 

Strae, straw; to die a fair 
sti'ae death, to die in bed. 

Slraik, to stroke; straiket, 
stroked. 



Strappen, tall, handsome, vi 

gorous. 
Strath, low alluvial land, u 

holm. 
Straught, straight. 
Strcek. stretched, to stretch. 
Striddle, to straddle. 
Stroan, to spout, to piss. 
Stroup, the spout. 
Studdie, the anvil. 
Slumpie, diminutive of 

stump; a grub pen. 
Slrunt, spirituous liquor of 

any kind ; to walk sturdily. 

to be affronted. 
Stuff, coru or pulse of any 

kind. 
Start, trouble ; to molest. 
Slurtin, frigl).tened. 
Stymc, a glimmer. 
Sucker, sugar. 
Sud, should. 
Sugh, the continued rn.shing 

noise of wind or water. 
Sumph, a pluckless fellow, 

with little heart or soul. 
Suthron, Southern, an old 

name of the Knglish. 
Sivaird, sword. 
Swall'd, swelled. 
Swank, stately, jolly. 
Sivankie, or sivanker, a tight 

strapping young fellow or 

girl. 
Swap), an exchange, to barter. 
Swarfed, swooned. 
Swat, did sweat. 
Swatch, a sample. 
Swats, drink, good ale, new 

ale or wort. 
Sweer, lazy, averse ; dead- 

sweer, extremely averse. 
Swoor, swore, did swear. 
Swinge, to beat, to whip. 
Swinke, to labour hard. 
Swirlie, knaggy, full of knots. 
Swirl, a curve, an eddying 

blast or pool, a knot in the 

wood. 
Swith, get away. 
Switlier, to hesitate in choice, 

an irresolute wavering in 

choice. 
Si/eboiv, a thick-necked onion. 
Syne, since, ago, then. 

T. 

Tackets, broad-headed nails 
for the heels of shoes. 

Tae, a toe ; three-taed, having 
three prongs. 

Tak, to take; takin, taking. 

Tangle, a sea-weed used as 
salad. 

Tap, the top. 

Tapelless, heedless, foolish. 

Targe, targe them ligtitly, cross- 
question them severely. 

Tarroxu, to murmur at one's 
allowance. 

Tarry-hreeks, a sailor. 

Tassie, a small measure for 
liquor. 

Taidd, or laid, told. 

Taupie, a foolish thoughtless 
young person. 

Tauled, or tautie, matted to- 
gether (spoken of hair and 
wool). 



GLOSSARY. 



603 



Taivie, that allows itself 
peaoeably to bu haiulleil 
(spoken of a cow, horse, 
&c.) 

TfJit, a small quantity. 

'J'rclJilrxs hidit/ir, Idoth'li'SSRUl'- 

Teiililis.'< ijiih, a iiinutli want- 
ing the ti'ctli. an yxjirussion 
of scorn. 

Ten-hoars-bite, a slight feed 
to the horse while in the 
yoke in the forenoon. 

Tciit, a field pulpit, heed, 
caution ; to take hoed. 

Tentie, heedful, cautious. 

Tcnliess, heedless, careless. 

Teugli, tough. 

Tluick, thatch; thack an' 
rape, clothilig and necessa- 
ries. 
■ Thae. these. 

Tluiirms, small guts, fiddle- 
.sli'ing.s. 

Th.iiihit, thank(«l. 

Tlur'.il. (li:itrli,.a. 

Tliniillin-. in-rthcr. 

ThniixiT. tlicms.'lves. 

Thirl.\ intiniiitr, familiar. 

T/iii/i/ir. ci-iiwding, make a 
noise; a seeker of alms. 

Thir, these. 

Thirl, to thrill. 

Thirled, thrilled, vibrated. 

Thole, to sulfer, to endure. 

Tliowe, a thaw, to th.aw. 

Tliowless, slack, lazy. 

Thrang, throng, busy, a 
crowd. 

Th nipple, throat, windpipe. 

T/iriiw, to sprain, to twi.st, to 
contradict. 

Thniirin', twisting, Ac. 

Tlirawti, sprained, twisted, 
contradicted, contradiction. 

Threap, to maintain by dint 
of assertion. 

ThrcshiiC, threshing; thresh- 
in'-hrr, a Hail. 

Thnlinii, thirteen. 

Tkridk, thistle. 

T/iroiiij/i, to go on with, to 
make out. 

ThriiHtltir, pell-mell, confus- 
edly (through-ither). 

Thrum, sound of a spinning- 
wheel in motion, the thread 
remaining at the end of a 
web. 

Thwl, to make a loud inter- 
mittent noise. 

Tlnimniart, foumart, polecat, 

T /ill Ill/lit, tlinniped. 

Thi/ser, thyself. 

TiU't, to it. 

Timmer, timber. 

Tine, to lose ; tint, lost. 

Tinkler, a tinker. 

Tip, a ram. 

Tippence, twopence, money. 

7'irl, to make a slight noise; 
to unco\'er. 

TirUn\ tirlet, uncovering. 

Tilhcr, the other. 

Tittle, to whisper, to prate 
idly. 

TiUlin, whispering. 

Tocher, marriage portion 
toclier bands, marriage 
bonds. 



Toil, a fox, " Tiid i' the/aitld," 

fox in the fold. 
Toild/n, to totter, like the 

walk of a child ; tmllcn-dow, 

tcHMling dove. 
Too-fit', •• Too fii' o' the nicht," 

when twilight darkens into 

night; a building added, a 

lean-to. 
Toom, empty. 
Tooined, emptied. 
Toop, a ram. 
Tiixs, a toast. 
Tiixie, warm and ruddy with 

warmth, good-looking, in- 
toxicating. 
Toun, a hamlet, a farmhouse. 
Tout, tho blast of a horn or 

trumpet, to blow a horn or 

trumpet. 
Tonzlex, toiizling, romping, 

ruflling tho clothes. 
Tmv. a rope. 

Towmond, a twelvemonth. 
Towzic, rough, shaggy. 
To;/, a very old fashion of fe- 
male head-dress. 
Toi/le, to totter like old age. 
IVams. barrow-trams, the 

handles of a barrow. 
Triinsmiiiirijiiit. transmigrat- 
ed, mclamorphosed. 
Triislitrie. trash, rubbish. 
Trii:hii\ full of tricks. 
'I'rii/. spruce, neat. 
Triinlij, cleverly, excellently, 

in a seemly manner. 
Trinle. trinile, the wheel of a 

barrow, to roll. 
yi-iJiWrn, trickling. 
Troggers, troggin'. wandering 

merchants, goods to truck 

or dispose of. 
Troiv. to believe, to trust to. 
Trnivth, truth, a petty oath. 
Trysts, appointments, love 

meetings, cattle shows. 
Tumhkr-wheels, the wheels of 

a kind of low cart. 
Tag, raw hide, of which in 

old time plough-traces were 

frefiuently made. 
Tug or tow, either in leather 

or rope. 
Tulzie, a quarrel, to quarrel, 

to fight. 
Twa, two ; twa-fald, twofold. 
Tum-three, a few. 
TiiHid, it would. 
Twal, twelve ; twalpennie 

v)orth, a small quantity, a 

penny-worth.— N. B. One 

penny English is 12rf. 

Scotch. 
Twafaid, twofold. 
Twill, to part. 
Twistle, twisting, the art of 

making a rope. 
Tyke, a dog. 
Tysday, Tuesday. 

U. 

Vnhack'dfdly, a young mare 

hitherto unsaddled. 
Unco, strange, uncouth, very, 

very great, prodigious. 
T/iicos, news. 
Cfnfauld, unfold. 



lliikenn'd, unknown. 

l/nsicker, nncerlain, waver- 
ing, insecure. 

Unskaithi-.d, undamaged, un- 
hurt. 

Ui>o\ upon. 

V. 

Viip'rin, vapouring. 

Pk ((Hd'i!. joy ons.delight which 

cannot contain itself. 
T1:r((, very. 
Virl, a ring round a column, 

&e. 
Vogie, vain. 

W. 

Il((', w.all, wa's, walls. 

Widister, a weaver. 

Wad. would, to bet, a bet, a 
pledge, 

1Iy«//(((, would not, 

Mliihet, land on which money 
is lent, a mortgage. 

TK(C, woe ; wuefu', sorrowful ;' 
wailing. 

Waefu'-woodie, hangman's 
I'ope. 

Waeaurks i Wae's me I Alas ! 
the pity! 

Wa' /lower, wall-flower. 

Waft, woof; the cross thread 
that goes from the shuttle 
through the web. 

WaiJ's an' crocks, stray sheep 
and old ewes past breeding. 

Wair, to lay out, to expend. 

Wale, choice, to clioose. 

Wil'd, chose, chosen, 

Walie, ample, large, jolly, 
also an exclamation of dis- 
tress, 

Wame, tho helly, 

)\'amefii', a bellyful, 

Wnicliaiisie. unlucky, 

Wannxl. iiuiinw<t/u', restless, 
unrest ful, 

Wark, W(irk. 

Wirk-liimc, a tool to work 
with. 

Warld's-tvorm, n miser. 

Wioie, or wurld, world. 

Warlock, a wizard; warlock- 
knowe, a knoll where war- 
locks once held tryste. 

Warly, worldly, eager in 
amassing wealth. 

Warran', a warrant, to war- 
rant. 

Warsle, wrestle. 

WarsVd, or warsl'lal, wrest- 
led. 

Wadrie, prodigality. 

Wat, wet; / wat—I ivot—1 
know. 

Wat, a man's upper dress; a 
.sort of mantle. 

Wdl'^r-lirose, hroso made of 
nu'al and water simply, 
witliovit tho addition of 
milk, butter, &c. 

Wattle, a twig, a wand. 

Waidile, to swing, to reel. 

Waukin, waking, watching. 

Waukit, thickened as fullers 
do cloth. 

Waukrifc, not apt to sleep. 



604 



GLOSSARY. 



Waur, worse, to worst. 

Wmtr't. worsted. 

Wean, a child. 

Weary-tviddle, toilsome con- 
test of life. 

Weason, weasand, windpipe. 

Weaven' the stockiny, to knit 
stockings. 

yVeedf.r-clips, instrument for 
removing weeds. 

Wee, little; tvee tliiinis, little 
ones, wee bits, a small mat- 
ter. 

Weel, well, weelfare, welfare. 

Weel, rain, wetness; to wet. 

T)r",sT, we shall. 

M'lm, who. 

Wliiiidr. to wheezs. 

M'haljnt, whelped. 

Wliang. a leathern thong, a 
piece of cheese, bread, kc. 

W/iare, where; whare'ei; 
wherever. 

Wheep, to fly nimhh', to jerk; 
penny-wheep. small-beer. 

Wlime, who's, whose— who is. 

Wliiit reck, nevertheless. 

W/tid, the motion of a hare 
running, hut not fright- 
ened — a lie. 

Whidden, running as a hare 
or coney. 

Whigmeleeries, whims, fan- 
cies, crotchets. 

Whilk, which. 

Whingin', crying, complain- 
ing, fretting. 

Whirligigums, useless orna- 
ments, trifling appendages. 

Whissle, a whistle, to whistle. 

Whisht, sii-;uce ; to hold one's 
whist, to be silent. 

Whisk, ivhisket, to sweep, to 
lash. 

Wltiskiri' heard, a beard like 
the whiskers of a cat. 

Whiskit, lashed, the motion 



of a horse's tail removing 

flies. 
Winder, a hearty draught of 

liquor. 
Whitlle. a knife. 
WhunsUine, a whinstone. 
1(7', with. 
Wick, to strike a stone in an 

oblique direction, a term 

in curling. 
Widdlfu, twisted like a 

withy, one who merits 

hanging. 
Wid, a small whirlpool. 
Wifie-ivifikie, a diminutive 

or endearing name for a 

wife. 
Wight, stout, enduring. 
WiUyart-glower, a bewildered 

dismayed stare. 
Wimple-womplet, to meander, 

meandered, to enfold. 
Wimplin, waving, meander- 
ing. 
Win\ to wind, to winnow. 
Winnin' -thread, putting 

thread into hanks. 
Win't, winded .as a bottom of 

yarn. 
Win', wind. 
Wm, live. 
Winna, will not. 
Winnock, ii window. 
Winsome, hearty, vaunted, 

gay. 
Wintle, a staggering motion, 

to stagger, to reel. 
Wiss, to wish. 
Withoutcn, without. 
Wizcencd, hide-bound, dried, 

shrunk. 
Winze, a curse or impreca- 
tion. 
Wiinier, a wonder, a contemp- 
tuous appellation. 
Woo', wool. 
Woo, to court, to make love to. 



Widdie, a rope, more properly 
on(^6f witbs or willows. 

Wner-lmhs, the garter knitted 
below the knee with a cou- 
ple of loops. 

Wardji, worthy. 

Wiirset, worsted. 

Wrack, to tease, to vex. 

^Vud, wild, mad; wnd-mad, 
distr.ncted. 

Wiimhle, a wimble. 

Wraith, a spirit, a ghost, an 
apparition exactly like a 
living person, who.^e ap- 
pearance is said to forbode 
the person's approaching 
death ; also wrath. 

Wrnng, wrong, to wrong. 

WrectJi, a drifted heap of 
snow. 

Wyjicrnat. a flannel vest. 

Wytc, blame, to blame. 

Y. 

J>, tliis pronoun is frequent- 
ly used for thou. 

YcLirris. longs much. 

i'calings. born in the same 
year, cocv.als. 

i'ear, is used both for singu- 
lar and plural, years. 

Yell, barren, that gives no 
milk. 

Trrk, to la.sh, to jerk. 

Yirkct. jerked, lashed. 

Yestreen, yesternight. 

Yell, a gate. 

Ynik's, itches. 

Yitl. ale. 

Yird, yirded, earth, earthed, 
buried. 

YokirC, yoking. 

Yiint, ayout, beyond. 

Yirr, lively. 

Yowe, an ewe. 

Ymvie, diminutive of yowe. 

Yule, Christmas. 



TUE END. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 389 809 A 




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